


Harry Potter and the Astra Telepathica

by SpaceWizardWaifu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bullying, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grimdark, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 107,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWizardWaifu/pseuds/SpaceWizardWaifu
Summary: A retelling of Harry Potter 1, where instead of a wizard, Harry finds out he’s a psyker, and instead of 1990s Britain, it's set in the Grim Darkness of the Far Future.
Comments: 86
Kudos: 76





	1. Life on Halos

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to my fic, I wrote the majority of this in rona lockdown. I love WH40K psykers, and decided to write a Harry Potter crossover for the meme. The meme somehow grew to be >100k words.  
> Credits to SpaceAce for beta reading/editing.  
> PS - JKR is dead, long live Harry Potter.

INFORMATION OVERVIEW: HALOS

Affiliation: Imperium of Man

Type: Agriworld

Planetary radius: 5690 km  
Gravity: 8.9 m/s²  
Temperature: -50 to 30 °C  
Population: 2.4 billion  
Planetary Governor: Ignatia Tremellius

System: Halos system  
Sub sector: Caph subsect  
Sector: Cassiopeian Sector  
Segmentum: Pacificus

Tithe: Decuma Tertius

Strategic value: Low

The Imperial World of Halos was, by most accounts, kind of a shitty planet.

It had birthed no great heroes, spawned no abominable villains, nor been a stage for mighty battles. It held no real strategic value, and produced no vital components for the Imperial war effort.

While technically an Agriworld, Halos was no sunny land of green pastures. Instead, it was covered mostly in frigid salt water, and scattered with chunks of caustic, barely arable land. The population, a hardy posse of grizzled seadogs, spent much of their life trawling the shallower seas for food, and avoiding the deeper seas, where they tended to become the food instead. Most of them knew or cared little of the affairs of the wider Imperium, and in return, the wider Imperium barely knew they existed – but this was just fine by them. It meant that aside from the annual Imperial Guard recruitment drive, or the occasional surprise visit from the Ordos Hereticus, Halos was largely left alone and in peace, and saw little of the Endless War which plagued other more important regions of the galaxy.

Of course, this wasn’t to say that Halosians lived a life of leisure. Halos was hostile – bitingly cold, frequented by violent storms, and infested with man-eating sea monsters. But the folk who lived there were used to it. Cold could be sealed out, storms could be weathered, and sea-monsters could be slain, and sold for profit under the guise of clam chowder. And anyway, if they had it bad, then imagine how those poor Deathworlders were doing? 

Day to day, Halosians eked out an existence amidst salt-crusted, fish-scented huts and fields of grey, tasteless weeds – but they weren’t complaining. It was tough, but it was all they had, and although the planet was a definitive shithole, it was their shithole, and they were proud of it anyway. 

Harrius Potter was a born Halosian, and he was quite typical for his age – small, skinny, and permanently encrusted in a fine layer of grey salt-dust. Under the dust, he was pretty sure that his skin was pale and his hair was black, but he hadn’t personally seen the proper colour for years now. He also knew that his eyes were green, which was a rare colour – not just for eyes, but on Halos in general. There were no endemic trees or grasses on Halos, and the crops brought by the original settlers of the planet were only green in the broadest sense of the word. 

Harrius had been complimented often on his eye colour as a younger child – and once, a man at the fishmarket had made an offer to Harrius’ guardian, Aunt Petunia, to buy ‘the green-eyed boy’ for a considerable sum of money. Fortunately for Harrius, Aunt Petunia had declined – although she brought up the tale often, usually when Harrius had done something to bother her, and lamented that she hadn’t sold him.  
Fortunately for Harrius however, these days he wore glasses, which hid his one stand out feature behind a film of grit. 

Harrius lived with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and their son Dudleus, in a small unremarkable house, on a small unremarkable street, of a small unremarkable island called Privet Isla. Aunt Petunia was his mother’s sister, and had taken Harrius in out of obligation when both Harrius’ parents had been press ganged into the Guard. Harrius could barely remember his real mum and dad. Sometimes, on the days when Petunia reminded him that she’d never really wanted to take him in, he wished they were still around. But most of the time his life was alright, really. He had a roof over his head, a warm meal every day, and a stable job, which was more than many ten-year-olds could boast. He even went to school, once a week on Saturdays – which was also his favourite day by far. 

Harrius was a naturally curious child, and he loved learning, whether it be boring stuff like Gothic grammar, or exciting stuff like History – but most of all, he loved the class’ tutor, a man called Augustus Fabri.  
For most of the week, Augustus was an Engineer for the Order of Desalination, a Halos-specific branch of the Adeptus Mechanicus – but on weekends, he taught the local children in the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Harrius was convinced that Augustus knew pretty much everything. He knew why the seasons changed, and how the salt-pumps worked, and why fish could breathe underwater, and how an Arvus Lighter stayed in the air, and which commands to give a cogitator to make it count to a billion. He knew the names of a thousand different planets other than Halos, and had actually been off-world once, although only as far as high orbit, and only for a few days.  
Harrius loved asking Augustus questions, and would do so at every opportunity. His favourite topic was space, especially life on other planets. It was barely conceivable to him that there were worlds where everything was warm and green, or covered entirely in black rock and liquid fire, or so densely populated that manmade buildings spanned the horizon. Augustus himself seemed to enjoy talking about these places too – particularly Holy Terra and Mars, which he wished to visit one day, and pay his respects to the Omnissiah.

Harrius thought that Holy Terra sounded like if Sunday Worship Hour was an entire planet – but if Augustus thought it was cool, then he did too. And anyway, it wasn’t hard to get Augustus to talk about something more interesting, like the fire-breathing dragons of Nocturne, or the deadly jungles of Catachan. Sometimes he even talked about the abominable enemies of the Imperium, such as ‘the Loathsome Greenskins’, or ‘those Arrogant Knife-Eared Bastards’ – and Harrius would wonder whether his own parents had fought these same creatures in the Guard. 

Other times though, Harrius would ask one too many questions, like if it’s called the second war of Armageddon, then what was the first one?, and Augustus would suddenly clam up.  
“You’re an inquisitive one, young Harrius,” he would say, in his quiet, raspy voice. “I enjoy your curiosity and your love of learning – but sometimes being curious is dangerous. There are times when asking questions can get you into trouble.”

“Why?” Harrius would ask. “It’s just a question!”

Augustus shook his head, half amused, half deadly serious. “There are questions which have dangerous answers,” he would reply. “Answers which are not for you to know. Or answers which are best left unknown by everyone.”

This, of course, wasn’t a remotely satisfying answer.

It was a Monday morning, and Harrius was lying half-awake on his mattress, gazing up at the cobwebs on the underside of the stairs. His room, which was actually a large cupboard, was cramped and had no windows, but it was currently warm and cosy, and he was comfortable. He knew he’d have to get up soon, and get ready for work, but not for another ten minutes at least...

His moment of comfort was cut short though, by a loud rapping on his cupboard door, and the voice of Aunt Petunia yelling at him to “get up, right now, and get to the kitchen!”

Harrius sighed, the sleepy fuzz fading from his mind. Some mornings, his aunt decided that he was on dish duty – apparently this was one of those mornings.  
Reluctantly, he got out of his blanket cocoon, and slowly put on his work uniform (a shirt and thick beige overalls), and then he went and found Petunia.

As expected, she immediately directed him to the pile of dishes which had been left over from the previous evening. Interestingly though, Harrius noticed that she had gotten out a whole lot of fresh dishes, and was in the middle of making some sort of hot food. This was highly irregular. Breakfast was usually a single protein bar, and half a sour-fruit. The only time they had a hot breakfast was on special occasions, like Unification Day, or Sanguinala, or…

Wait a minute.

“It’s Duddie’s eleventh birthday, this coming Saturday,” Aunt Petunia said a moment later. “So we’re starting the week off special! The kitchen needs to be tidy, and we’re going to have a nice warm breakfast. Make sure you clean every spot off those plates. Also sweep the floor, and take the bins out. Oh, and brush your hair, it’s a mess!”

“Yes, Auntie,” Harrius said automatically.

He started his chores in silence – but his mind was wide awake and turning over quickly. Dudleus’ eleventh birthday was this Saturday? That meant several things – and made Harrius suddenly very nervous about the upcoming week. 

Firstly, it meant that not only was Dudleus turning eleven, but Harrius was as well. He and Dudleus’ birthdays were, while not on the exact same day, close enough that the family usually celebrated both on the same day anyway. Or rather, they celebrated Dudleus’ birthday, and Harrius got to share in whatever celebration they threw. 

Secondly, the celebration itself was upcoming, and this was the part Harrius was nervous about. Every year for the past few years, Dudleus had insisted that they all do an “activity” for his birthday – and these activities were always something which Harrius hated.  
The previous year, they had gone salbat shooting – which meant going down into the salt caves under the cliffs and trying to shoot a bunch of leathery, toothy beasts in the pitch darkness, waist deep in water. Harrius had twisted his ankle before they even got to the caves, and had spent the entire day in pain. On top of that, everyone had contracted some sort of dry cough for weeks afterwards. They hadn’t actually shot any salbats either. 

The year before that, they had gone to see an arena fight in the town over, and Harrius, then only nine years old, had to watch some poor sod get ripped to pieces by an imported sabretooth carnodon, a scene which haunted him for months afterwards, even if he had covered his eyes for most of it. To be fair, Dudleus also regretted that one, but at least Aunt Petunia let him sleep in her bed when he had nightmares. 

The year before that, the family had saved up for months, and bought an Actual Cake, with imported ingredients. They had gone on a picnic in the Chapel Gardens in order to eat it, but it had rained the whole time. The cake had managed to get soaked in the caustic rain, and while still edible, tasted strongly of salt, like literally every other meal on the Halos. This put everyone in a very bad mood, and the day had ended up being miserable.

Considering how the last three birthdays had gone, Harrius was therefore understandably apprehensive about what his Aunt and Uncle had dreamed up for their precious Duddie-poo this year.

“Duddie!” Aunt Petunia was calling up the stairs now, over the hiss of something frying in the pan. “Come-on down, Duddie-wuddy! Breakfast is almost ready! It’s something special just for youuuu!”

“Muuuuuuum, don’t call me that!” Dudleus responded grumpily, appearing at the top of the stairs. “I’m nearly eleven! I forbid you from calling me Duddie-wuddy!”

“Anything you say, big boy,” Petunia crooned. 

Scraping a pot at the sink, Harrius sighed slightly. Aunt Petunia would never allow him to talk back like that, but oh no, if it was Dudleus, then if was fine.

Once he’d finished the dishes, Aunt Petunia handed him a pile of toasted carbo-slabs on a plate, and told him to spread them with sweet-lard, the nice one from the top shelf. They smelt good, and Harrius’ stomach growled as he did as he was told.

In the meantime, Uncle Vernon had appeared, and both he and Dudleus were seated at the dinner table. “How’s this, Duddie?” Vernon grinned, patting Dudleus on the back with slightly too much force. “Look what your mother made for us! A great start to the week, eh?”

“Yeah,” Dudleus said. “Can we do special breakfast every morning this week?”  
“Well,” Petunia said, “I don’t know about every morning…”

“Aww, why not?” Dudleus stuck out his bottom lip. “I want it every day! It’s my birthday, isn’t it?”

“That it is, sweetie,” Petunia said. “We’ll see.” She kissed the top of his head as she passed him.

“Hurry it up with the lard,” she snapped at Harrius in the same breath.

Harrius was almost finished anyway, and quickly served out the toasted sweet slabs to everyone, including some of the smaller ones for himself. Then he sat at the table in his usual spot, furthest from everyone else, and quietly wolfed down his food. It really was considerably better than his usual breakfast, and he closed his eyes, savouring the sweet taste. 

“What are we going to do this time?” Dudleus was asking, mouth half full. “What’s my birthday activity going to be, Dad?”

“It’s a surprise, Duddie-me-lad,” Vernon said with a chuckle. 

“Awww. Why can’t you tell me now? I want to know now!”

“But then you won’t be surprised!”

“Well, am I going to like it?” Dudleus asked, pouting again.

“Oh, yes,” Uncle Vernon said. “In fact, I do believe this is going to be the best birthday yet!”

Across the table, Harrius felt a horrible sinking sensation in his stomach, and he was suddenly certain that Saturday was going to be the worst birthday ever. He tried to swallow the last of his breakfast – but now it tasted only of salt and dust.


	2. The Temple Gate Menace

Not wishing to stick around and listen to Dudleus complain for any longer than he had to, Harrius hurried completed the rest of his chores. He even ran a comb through his hair, although this did basically nothing to improve its unkept appearance – his hair just naturally stuck up in weird places.   
He was just getting ready to leave, trying his boots and pulling his dust mask over his nose, when Aunt Petunia stopped him.

“Wait, I have something for you,” she said, and crossed the room, to push a small coin purse into his hands. “Don’t lose this,” she said. “There’s a shopping list inside, and some money. I want you to buy all the items on the list from the fishmarket this afternoon. Now, I know exactly how much everything costs, and so I expect exact change. Understand?”

Harrius nodded to show that yes, he understood, and stowing the purse deep in a pocket, he slipped out the door before his Aunt could think of any more chores for him. 

Like most other children over eight years old in his community, Harrius worked five days out of seven in the local produce fields. Which field, and what crop they were tending, depended on the season – currently it was early Autumn, and they were growing briskwort, a stringy, grey, cactus-like plant which could be stewed into a passably edible nutrient sludge.  
The work was mostly manual labour, and therefore pretty tough, but the supervisors were not entirely unreasonable – the kids were allowed an hour off work for lunch, and they finished early compared to everyone else. Plus, they didn’t have to work at all on Saturdays, since they had school instead. 

Because of Dudleus’ birthday though, Harrius realised he might have to miss school this Saturday. This thought made him even grumpier than he had been already, and he trudged his way to work in a thoroughly bad mood. Why couldn’t they do the celebration on any other day? Sunday, for example – then all he’d miss would be boring old Worship Hour!

As a consolation gift to himself, Harrius decided that he would go and find Augustus today during lunch break. The Mechanicus engineer usually had lunch around the same time he did, and was easy to find, especially once you knew he only ever got food from the same two vendors. 

The morning dragged by, and Harrius dug some holes, and filled out some other holes, and moved piles of drying briskwort from one shed to another. Then at last, it was lunch time. Harrius immediately ditched his shovel, and ran all the way across the briskwort field, down the road, round several corners, across the fishmarket, and to the Temple of Desalination.

The Temple of Desalination was a gigantic grey stone building, with a Mechanicus cog-and-skull symbol carved into its side, fifteen metres high. It was built partially over the ocean, from which it sucked up salty water and, harnessing the power of the machine spirits, converted it into precious drinking water, a fundamental process for the very survival of the town.  
Harrius wasn’t allowed into the actual building, or even close to it – but it was lunch time, and he knew that Augustus and the other priests and engineers would be heading out of the gates any minute, to buy their lunch in the market. Harrius came to a stop near the huge, wrought iron front gate, and leant against the fence.

The massive main gate contained a smaller, human sized gate, which was currently open. Employees of the Temple, in their distinctive red-and-white robes, were already trickling out and diffusing into the fishmarket, the entrance of which was just across the road.  
Harrius came down to the temple about once or twice a week, and had been coming long enough to recognise several of the people who passed. It helped that many of them were quite strange looking, with their augmetic limbs, and mechadendrites, and robotic eyes, and whatever else.

Harrius knew that some people didn’t like the Mechanicus priests, and although they were respectful to their faces, labelled them weirdos or freaks or abominations behind their backs. He personally thought the priests were cool though. They all seemed like knowledgeable, interesting people, for one. And sure, it was rare to find one who didn’t have at least one robotic attachment – even Augustus, who looked relatively normal, had robot legs, and a thin, tentacle-like mechadendrite attached into left shoulderblade – but those were there to help him with his work, and allow him to do things regular people couldn’t. Augustus’ legs meant he could walk upside down on metal surfaces, and his mechadendrite acted as an extra arm to hold tools or flashlights or anything else. 

Harrius in fact, had on more than one occasion entertained the thought of becoming a Mechanicus priest himself when he was older. Augustus had told him that math was important for an engineer, and so he paid attention whenever math came up in Saturday school. He had also been trying to teach himself how to read binary, with some success, although it he was still very slow.   
There was still a lot he would need to learn, but he was confident that he could do it. His dream was that one day, Augustus would take him in and teach him everything he needed to know about caring for the holy machines of the temple. And then maybe he could get some robot arms, or eyes with lasers in them, or legs with rocket boosters, or… 

While Harrius waited, and daydreamed about becoming an engineer, he noticed a group of kids drift out of the market and towards the same fence he was leaning on. He didn’t recognise them, and figured they were merchant kids, probably just arrived from another island.  
There were three of them, all boys, around Harrius’ age, and they came to a stop just five or so metres from where Harrius was leaning. They were talking loudly, and so even though he tried to ignore them, he could overhear what they were saying perfectly.

“I heard they kidnap people, and practise removing their limbs,” one of them was saying, eyeing the Mechanicus Temple. “That’s why they’re so good at it!” 

“I heard it’s animals,” a second replied. “They catch baby salbats, and then they chop them up, and turn them into robots!”

“Yeah? I heard that they dig up all the dead bodies in the cemetery, and turn them into Servo skulls,” the first kid went on. “If you see a Servo skull in there – chances are, that’s Grandma.”

“Oh yeah?” the second kid said. “Well, I heard that they love their machine so much, that they f-“

“Oh please, those are all obviously fake,” the third boy interjected. “They’re just fake stories for little babies, to stop them wandering into danger.”

Harrius, his daydreams interrupted, glanced over to see if the boys looked like what they sounded like. They were all well dressed, and less covered in salt-dust than your average Halosian, which confirmed his merchant theory. Kid number one was beefy and had a close shaved head, and kid number two was lanky and had a wide brow. The third kid had unusual white-blonde hair, and a bored expression. He also happened to be looking in Harrius’ direction at the exact moment Harrius looked at him, and their eyes briefly met.

Harrius quickly looked away – but not quickly enough. The blonde kids’ eyes sparked with a sudden cruel interest and he stepped forwards.  
“Hey, you!” he said, cutting short the other two’s discussion on involuntary organ transplant. “Hey, glasses kid! Hey!”

Harrius tried to ignore it, desperately eyeing the incoming Mechanicus priests in the hope that one of them was Augustus. But he could hear the trio moving towards him, and soon enough it was impossible to pretend they weren’t there.

“What?” he said warily, turning to face them. 

All three of them were taller than him, and they quickly surrounded him, blocking off any escape. Harrius eyed them and tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. He’d met kids like this before, and they were never good news. The most important thing was to not show fear, but to also not show too much aggression. If he showed fear, then he was done for. If he came across as looking for a fight, then he would get one. 

The blonde kid, who was apparently the leader, planted his feet in front of Harrius and eyed him up and down.   
“What’s your name?” he said. 

“Harrius,” Harrius said.

The kid sneered, but didn’t comment. Harrius’ name wasn’t particularly unusual after all, so it wasn’t the low hanging fruit the kid had perhaps been hoping for.

“Harrius,” he said, instead. “Well, Harrius, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be ploughing fields or something?” 

His friends laughed, but Harrius just shrugged.

“I’m on my lunch break,” he said. 

The blonde kid nodded slowly. “Lunch break, right,” he said. “I didn’t know they gave you those.”

Then he suddenly stuck out his hand.   
“I’m Draco,” he said. “I just arrived on this shithole of an island yesterday. Nice to meet a local kid! So far, I’ve just met these two morons, who are also from other islands.”

Harrius tentatively shook the hand offered to him. “Nice to meet you too,” he said politely. 

Draco eyed him, and a few seconds passed in silence. Harrius didn’t bother to interrupt it. This boy was being weirdly friendly, and he didn’t trust it at all. 

“This is Crabbe, and Goyle,” Draco continued, gesturing at the others in turn. “Say hello.”

“Hello Harrius,” they both said, grinning like a pair of deep-water eels. 

“Great,” Draco said. “So, now that we’re all friends – I don’t suppose we could borrow your igniter, could we?”

“No,” Harrius said. “Sorry. I don’t have one.”

Draco paused. This was clearly not the answer he had been expecting.

“But Harrius,” he tried again. “We’re buddies, aren’t we? Come on, I know you have one. All you field trawlers do. It’s part of your equipment, isn’t it? You burn the stubble or whatever, right?”

“Nope, don’t have one,” Harrius said. 

This was a blatant lie though. He did, in fact, have an igniter, sitting right there in his pocket. But not only was he unwilling to just hand it over to these boys, he also genuinely needed it for work. And if Harrius came to work without his igniter, he would definitely get into trouble, both from his supervisor, and from Aunt Petunia when he had to ask her to pay for a new one. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. 

“There’s a vendor just over there which sells them,” Harrius said, pointing into the market hopefully.

“Harrius,” Draco said, and the friendly tone had dropped away entirely. “We’ve just spent our all our money on lho-sticks, and we want to smoke them. But to do that, we need an igniter – and we know you have one. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. The easy way is that you just hand it over, and that will be the end of it. Do you want to find out what the hard way is?”

Harrius didn’t say anything for a moment, eyeing the boys. He was angry that this boy was threatening him, but there were three of them, and one of him, and he knew they could easily knock the stuffing out of him if it came to a fight. Mentally, he weighed up being beaten up with having to ask Aunt Petunia for money. Neither was a particularly pleasant prospect.

His immediate situation won out however, and reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his igniter. “Fine,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm. “But you’re getting me into trouble.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Draco said, smirking as he took the igniter from Harrius’ hands. “Although…you did lie to us. Didn’t he?”

The other two nodded. “He said he didn’t have one,” Crabbe confirmed. “But he did have one.”

“I reckon we should punish him for that, don’t you Draco?” Goyle said. 

“Exactly,” Draco said, grinning. 

Before Harrius could react, they lunged for him, grabbing his arms and pulling them behind his back. Harrius began thrashing about and kicking his legs, but Draco’s cronies were much larger than him, and his kicks bounced off them harmlessly. Crabbe dragged him to the ground, face down, and sat on his legs. Goyle meanwhile held Harrius’s arms behind his back, while also pressing Harrius’ face into the ground. His glasses pushed painfully into his face, and he felt a piece give way with a quiet snap. 

Harrius felt tears of helplessness and rage spring to his eyes and he tried to wriggle, but found himself trapped. Face in the dirt, he saw Draco’s boots move into peripheral view. 

“Enjoying the dirt, dirt crawler?” Draco asked, crouching down in front of Harrius. Harrius heard him flick the igniter on and off. “F-fuck you!” Harrius tried to say, but it came out muffled. 

Draco sniffed. “Goyle, I can’t hear what he’s saying. Lift him up a bit. Yeah, that’s enough.”

Harrius’ head was lifted so that his face was no longer in the dirt, and he could see Draco properly. His glasses dropped off, but he could still see the blonde boy grinning viciously, and dangling the igniter in front of his face. 

“Fuck you, y-you festering eyeworm!” Harrius gasped. 

“Oooh, feisty,” Draco said. “And insubordinate as well! You have no right to talk to me like that, dirt crawler.”

He moved the igniter even closer, and then flicked it on, the small flame just centimetres from Harrius’ face. Harrius tried to thrash about again, but it was still pointless. Real fear sparked in his chest, momentarily overcoming the rage and humiliation. How far was this boy going to go?

“I think he should be taught a lesson in respecting his betters,” Draco said.

His hand moved even closer, the flame licking Harrius’ face, and it was painful, so painful, and Harrius screamed and panic spiked through him and it was though he felt the space around him stretch and become elastic, malleable, as he reached out towards it-

“Boys, put him down!”

The commanding voice of an adult caused Draco to jerk the flame away, and Crabbe and Goyle got off of Harrius. Harrius scrambled to his feet, grabbing his broken glasses on the way, his chest flooding with relief as he saw that Augustus had appeared. Hurriedly, he moved to stand behind the engineer. Draco and his cronies meanwhile were trying their best to look innocent. 

Augustus was not looking happy. A middle-aged man, and not particularly tall or muscular, Augustus was not usually a threatening silhouette, and Harrius had rarely, if ever, seen him get angry before – but he was furious now. In his rage, he suddenly became a towering figure with a booming voice, someone to listen to and obey. 

“Don’t you boys have anything better to do than behave like beasts?” he growled, and even Draco had the grace to look admonished.   
“I will not tolerate needless bullying in my presence,” Augustus continued. “You kids should be ashamed of yourself. Go on, scram! And if I see you back here, you’d better be behaving a little more kindly!”

Wordlessly, Draco and the others turned to leave – but before they could, Harrius cleared his throat. 

“Wait,” he said. “They’ve still got my igniter! They took it!”

“Well?” Augustus said. “Do you have his igniter?”

Draco paused, and for a moment Harrius thought he wouldn’t listen. But then slowly Draco turned, uncurled his hand, and wordlessly tossed it into the dirt at Harrius’ feet. As he did so, he sent Harrius a truly hatred-filled scowl.

Harrius stared defiantly back, as best as he could while holding broken frames over his eyes – but in that moment, realised that this probably wasn’t over. This war was just beginning.   
But, he thought, as he bent and quickly stuffed the igniter deep into his pocket, it seemed he had won the first battle.  
Although, not without significant help. Turning, he looked gratefully at Augustus.

“Thanks. He was going to burn my face.”

“Yes, I saw,” Augusto muttered, glaring after the backs of the boys as they disappeared into the fishmarket. “A disturbed child, that one. It was fortunate I was able to intervene. Harrius, I would be on alert about him if I were you. If you see him again, don’t stand around and wait for him to get close, just run.”

“Yeah,” Harrius said, rubbing gingerly at his face. The flame had only licked his cheek for a few seconds, but it was still sore.

Eyeing Harrius with a concerned expression, Augustus reached into his robes, and took out a compact medicae kit. “Here,” he said, opening it and taking out a small yellow tube. “Rub some of this salve on the burn. You’ll be all better in no time – the flesh may be weak, but it has great qualities of self-healing. Oh, and let me see those glasses – I might be able to fix them.”

Gratefully, Harrius handed over the glasses and took the salve. It immediately reduced the sting, and he smiled at Augustus. Augustus meanwhile turned the glasses over in his large brown hands. Deftly, he removed the snapped arm of the glasses with a tiny screwdriver, and then took a thick piece of wire out of his pocket. Clamping the end of the wire in his mechadendrite, he twisted it into the right shape, and then threaded it neatly into the remaining frame.   
“There we go,” he said, handing it back to Harrius. “This will do for now. You’ll have to replace it properly at some point, though. Anyway – shall we get lunch? My shout.”

“Yes, let’s!” Harrius grinned.


	3. The Tale of Josie Leviticus

As they headed into the market and towards the main food vendor square, Harrius, as was tradition, asked Augustus to tell him a story.

“And what tale did I tell you last time?” Augustus smiled. “Remind me, young man.”

“You told me about the time the Great Serpent Scylla came into the Bay of Lament.”

“Ah, yes. And have I told you about the time all of Privet Isla was nearly drowned in the ocean?”

“The big wave? Yes, you’ve told me that one.”

“Ah, indeed. And have I told you the tale of the Long Winter?”

“Yep. Twice, actually!”

“It’s a good one.”

“It is a good one. But I want something new today, please.”

“Alright,” Augustus frowned slightly. “Well, I have one, then. It is somewhat thematic, as it involves people getting burned alive. It is a dark and disturbing tale, though, I warn you…”

“Yes?” Harrius said.

“It is the story of witch – a girl called Josie Leviticus. And it is a tragedy. But wait – before we start, what sort of topping do you want on your fish stew?”

Harrius told him, and then waited impatiently as the engineer placed the order. A witch story? These were rare! Usually Augustus, and everyone else on Privet Isla, avoided the topic of witches. It was considered bad luck to speak of them, as if speaking of them would make them appear.

Harrius had never seen a real witch up close before though, and was curious about them, as he was about most things. If anything, the taboo nature of the topic made it even more interesting. He was practically bouncing up and down in excitement as Augustus handed him his stew.

“Now then,” Augustus said, “where was I? Ah yes, Josie Leviticus. A bright young girl, of a similar age to yourself. She lived in a house over the way – in fact, you would have seen it. It remains a pit of charred rubble to this day, as no one dares build atop it. But back then, the Leviticus family lived there.  
They were not rich, but they were not salt-poor either. They were hard workers and they made an effort to be good, upstanding folk. I knew them, and Josie herself, personally. She used to come to the Saturday classes, and although back then I wasn’t running them, I saw enough of her to know that she was good at heart, and that her heart was strong.  
Now, Josie was the oldest of three girls, and thus the burden of caring for her younger sisters often fell upon her. She was only eleven years old, but she often had to cook for them, and look after them when her parents were away at work.  
And so, it happened that it was just Josie and her sisters at home one afternoon, when a man broke into the house.  
No-one knows for certain what the man was after – if he was there to steal, or kidnap, or something worse. We shall never know. Instead it transpired that Josie, in the act of protecting her siblings, awoke to latent sorcerous powers and unleashed them upon the intruder.  
The man was most likely instantly killed – indeed, his half-melted body was excavated at a later date. But unfortunately for Josie, her newly awakened powers were not done with her. She had opened a gateway where none should exist, and as most witches do, she rapidly succumbed to insanity.

Her father did not return home until nightfall, and thus Josie was left at the mercy of her own unfettered sorcery for several hours. When her father did finally return, word is that he found her hunched over the dead forms of her sisters, her own body mutated and her mind shattered. In her hand she held a quill, dripping red with human blood, and on every surface of the house around her she had scrawled profane symbols and hellish invocations. 

The sight drove her father mad, and laughing and shrieking, he ran into the street. Others came to investigate, and each who stepped through the door and caught sight of Josie’s work would have the mettle of their mind severely tested. The madness began to spread, as others ran off and wrote heretical symbols of their own. 

Eventually, word of the spreading insanity made its way up the hill, and the Ecclesiarchy sent out forces to combat the witch and her growing number of psychotic disciples. Many were killed in the insuring fight – but fortunately, the Ecclesiarchy had responded quickly enough to contain much of the damage. All structures bearing heretical symbols were burned, and the house of the witch was set to the torch, the witch herself still inside. It is said that Josie Leviticus did not make a noise as she burned. Instead, she continued to write, until the walls went up in flames and the roof caved in.  
In total, nine buildings were razed, and twenty-seven people were killed that night, either directly or indirectly by Josie Leviticus, among them friends, neighbours, and her entire immediate family. 

But Josie’s death was not the end of it. Not all who had gazed upon Josie’s corrupted penmanship had died that first night, and over the next few days and weeks, heretics continued to appear. Thankfully none held quite the power that Josie had – but they posed a significant threat none-the-less. The Ecclesiarchy, terrified that the situation would continue to worsen, called for reinforcements from Edict Isla. For four whole months, Privet Isla was turned upside down in the largest witch hunt in over one hundred years. Homes were raided, hundreds of citizens were interrogated, and dozens of witches were captured, and burned at the stake. Some of these witches were people we had known for years. We had no idea they were witches. They claimed that they hadn’t known either.”

Augustus paused for a moment, and sighed deeply. “It was a dark, chaotic time,” he said. “It became known as the Leviticus Witch Trials, after poor Josie, although many others were burned as well.”

“Emperor protect us,” Harrius breathed, wide eyed. “How horrible.”  
He had in fact heard mention of the Leviticus Witch Trials before – but he had never heard the gory details.  
“But Augustus,” he said. “Why do you say ‘poor Josie’? She was an evil witch, wasn’t she?”

“She became so,” Augustus said, “but she wasn’t always. Most witches don’t choose their fate, Harrius. However, having said that, they are still extremely dangerous! Although you shouldn’t spend your life looking over your shoulder. It is just another of those things to look out for. Don’t eat old fish stew, don’t go out beyond the bay, and if you see a witch, run the other direction as fast as you can.”

“But how do I know if they’re a witch?” Harrius asked. “If I see them?”

“Well,” Augustus said, “that is the question, isn’t it.”

He paused. “I suppose,” he said, “you will know because they will be speaking in tongues, and shooting lightning and brimstone out of their fingers. Or levitating – that one’s a dead giveaway.”

Harrius felt like Augustus was making light of a question which was actually important to know. But it was also rapidly approaching the time when he was supposed to be back at the fields, so he didn’t press it further.

“Thanks for the stew,” he said, grinning at the engineer. “And for the story! And also for saving my life earlier! I have to go back to work. Tell me more stories about witches next time, OK?”

“I’m not promising anything,” Augustus chuckled. “Off you go, now. And this time, try not to get set on fire.”

“Almost set on fire,” Harrius corrected him.

His head full of everything Augustus had just told him, the afternoon shift flew by. He barely noticed the ground underneath his shovel. He imagined the young witch, cackling wildly as she wrote all over the wall, even as the house burned around her. It was indeed a disturbing tale – although not skimping on the gore was one of the reasons why Harrius liked Augustus’ tales more than anyone else’s. 

Before he knew it, it was the end of the shift, and he was allowed to leave. Harrius dropped off his tools, and headed for home – before suddenly remembering that his aunt had asked him this morning to get a few items from the fishmarket.

He abruptly turned around and went back towards the market, for the second time that day.

There were five items on the shopping list:  
\- Crusker fibre, 1 kg  
\- Powdered sweetener, 500 g  
\- Protein pellets, 500 g  
\- Alkaleen, 200 g  
\- New fillet knife from Troskin’s. 

The fibre, sweetener and protein pellets, all diet staples, could be found at the same vendor, stored in huge open-topped barrels. Harrius watched the clerk scoop and weigh all three into string-tied sea-paper baggies, which he paid for and tied to his belt. Next he went to the apothecary and found the Alkaleen, which was an extremely caustic powder meant for scouring drains. It came in a waxy package, which he stowed carefully in his left trouser pocket, where there was less chance of it breaking open and causing him to come out in painful blisters.  
Lastly, he went to Troskin’s Cutlery, and spent a good while looking at the knives. He couldn’t decide whether to get a slightly cheaper one, and return home with more change, or get the more expensive one, and use up the rest of the money. 

In the end, he bought the more expensive one – the decision was based purely on the fact that the more expensive knife had a pretty blue-green sheen on its handle, while the other didn’t. This meant he was returning with no change however, and he hoped Aunt Petunia wasn’t too upset with his decision.

Distracted, the knife in a box in his arms, he left Troskin’s, and began to head home. He was so distracted in fact, that he didn’t notice the leg which was raised to trip him, until it was too late. 

His foot caught, and before he knew what was happening, the ground was rushing to meet him. His hands full, he wasn’t able to stop himself from crashing down, landing heavily on his side as he twisted to avoid landing on the knife box. 

He lay there for a moment, stunned, before a laugh behind him brought him crashing into the present.

Oh no. He recognised the laugh.

Hurriedly, he got to his feet, and made to run. But before he got two steps, the beefy merchant kid from earlier had stepped out in front of him. What was his name? Crabbe? Or was this one Goyle?  
“Where do you think you’re going?” Crabbe/Goyle said, grinning maliciously.

God-Emperor, this was not looking good. Turning on the spot, Harrius found that the other two merchant kids had already closed in behind him. Draco was smirking, but his eyes glinted coldly. “Found you,” he said, hand reaching into his pocket. “And this time, you don’t have the freak-priest to come to your rescue.”  
His hand came out of his pocket, grasping an igniter, a brand new shiny red one. Flick. He thumbed it open, showing Harrius the tall, steady flame inside. 

“Time to burn!” he said, with a terrifying smile.

Harrius heard a slight sound behind him, and this time, he just dropped. No hesitation, he knew that if the beefy boy got his arms around him there would be nothing he could do. 

The boy’s arms flew over his head, and clutching the knife box to his chest, Harrius ducked sideways and out of the way. Then, before he himself could question the action, he ripped open the box he was carrying, and pulled out the brand-new fillet knife. Back to the wall, heart racing, he held it out in his right hand, tilting it in the light, making sure all three of his attackers saw it. 

See it they did, and they paused in their tracks. The knife was long and wicked sharp, built to slice through flesh like sweet-lard.

“What’s that, Harrius?” Draco said icily. “A knife, huh? Where’d you get that from?”  
Harrius didn't bother to respond. He waved the knife again. “Leave me alone,” he said, trying his best to sound mean, and not like his own fear was threatening to choke him.  
Draco narrowed his eyes, and he flicked the igniter shut.  
“Are you going to stab me, Harrius?” he said. “Will you actually do it? Or…are you bluffing?”  
He took a step forward, towards the knife. Harrius could feel his hand shaking, even as he willed it not to. Draco took another step forward.  
“Go on,” Draco said. “I'm unarmed, and in range, if you lunge forwards. Stab me, Harrius!”

Harrius did not. He just continued to stand where he was. His left hand moved, very slowly, out of sight.  
With more confidence, Draco took another step forward. “You're not going to do it, are you?” he said. “You couldn't do it, because you're not like that. You’re a coward. I can tell, Harrius. I can read you like a book. Besides, even if you have a knife, it’s still three against one. You should stop lying to yourself. Chances are, we’ll get the knife off you, and then you’ll be in trouble, won’t you? I think that instead…”  
He took one last step forwards, so that the tip of the knife was mere centimetres away from his chest. “Instead, you should lower your knife, and drop it on the ground,” he said. “You know you can't win against me. Here, if you drop your knife, I'll even promise not to burn your face again! What do you say, Harrius?”

Harrius took a deep breath, and very slightly lowered the knife. “You promise not to burn my face?”

Draco's smile widened. “I promise,” he said. 

“Well,” Harrius said. “Unfortunately, I can't promise the same.”

And then he brought around his left hand, and unleashed a fist full of Alkaleen directly into Draco's face. 

Draco screamed, firstly in rage, and then as the caustic powder began to eat in, in pain. Alarmed, Crabbe and Goyle turned to stare at their friend as he doubled over, hands clawed over his eyes.  
Harrius meanwhile didn't stick around to find out what happened next. Draco's wails chased him across the fishmarket as he bolted home. 

He burst through the kitchen door, and wordlessly dumped the knife, nutri-powders, and the rest of the Alkaleen in its packet on the kitchen table. His aunt was there, but she barely glanced at him, moving instead to inspect the goods.  
Harrius went immediately to his room, closing the door firmly and switching on his lamp. Then, he slowly took his left hand out of his pocket, and uncurled it.  
It didn't look good. His palm and fingers were bright red, with large angry blisters bubbling up under the surface. Wincing, Harrius quickly took his water flask and the tiny work-issue first aid kit out of his field pack. He rinsed his hand in the water, gritting his teeth at the pain, before applying counterseptic salve to the damaged skin. Then he wrapped the entire hand tightly in a bandage, just how the supervisor at the field had demonstrated on what to do when wounded.  
After that, he felt a bit better, although still shaky. He could barely believe what had just happened. It was pretty serious, what he’d just done. If his hand looked like this, then he dreaded to think what Draco’s face would look like. If the Alkaleen had gotten into Draco's eyes, then the boy's eyesight might even be permanently damaged.  
Harrius felt a little guilty about that – but not too guilty. Draco had attacked him first. And if he hadn’t fought back, then who knows what would have happened?  
He sat in his room for a while, until his Aunt yelled at him to come out and help with dinner preparations. She noticed his bandaged hand immediately – but she didn’t press it further when Harrius told her he’d injured it at work.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere in your ability to chop these greystalks,” she said. “And make sure you chop them evenly! This day has already been a disaster!”

“Bet it wasn’t as bad as mine,” Harrius muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing! Nothing.”


	4. The Worst Birthday Ever

The rest of the week passed thankfully in relative peace and quiet. Harrius avoided the fishmarket, which meant he didn’t see Augustus again, but it was a sacrifice he had to make. Anyway, it wasn’t forever. Draco was a merchant kid, which meant eventually, he would move on to another island, and Harrius would never see him again. 

As the week drew to a close however, the tension of avoiding the market began to pale in comparison to the apprehension for the upcoming Birthday Activity. Dudleus grew noticeably more excited as the big day approached, while Harrius began to think of possible ways to get out of whatever it was that they would be doing. What if he faked illness? Or faked a broken arm? Or actually broke his arm? Or temporarily ran away from home?   
But as Saturday ticked closer and closer, he still hadn’t come up with a plan which Aunt Petunia wouldn’t see through, and with dread in his heart, he fell into a fitful sleep…

It was only a few hours later when he was shaken awake. 

Blearily, Harrius sat up and reached for his glasses. Uncle Vernon was in his cupboard, a tallow lamp held up high, illuminating his broad red face. “Get up,” he barked, and with no further explanation, he left the room.  
Harrius sat for a moment, nothing in his head except for the desire to go back to sleep. But as clattering noises and the sound of Dudleus talking excitedly drifted to his ears, he woke up properly, and the feeling of dread which had been gradually intensifying all week became a solid weight in his stomach. Hurriedly, he put on his warmest clothes, then cautiously exited his cupboard and went into the kitchen.

Everyone else was there already, packing food and water casks into a large basket. Dudleus looked excited, while Uncle Vernon looked slightly stressed, and Aunt Petunia looked half asleep.

“C’mon, tell me!” Dudleus was saying. “Where are we going? Tell me!”

“’S a surprise, Duddy,” Aunt Petunia mumbled. “You’ll see when you get there.”

“Alright, no lollygagging,” Uncle Vernon said brusquely, stacking a pair of mysterious boxes onto the table. “We need to get there as early as possible! You!” He suddenly rounded on Harrius, who had been standing in the doorway. “Ready? Good! Carry this box. And don’t get it wet, for the love of the Emperor!”  
He picked up one of the boxes, and dumped it into Harrius’ arms. Harrius staggered under the weight, but it was tolerable.

He had no clue what was in the box, or why he shouldn’t get it wet, but something rattled when he shook it. “Hey, don’t do that!” Uncle Vernon snapped at him. “Be careful with that, boy! Here, Dudleus, do you have your hat? Petunia hon, where’d you put the lunch pail?”

After several chaotic minutes, everyone had everything, and Uncle Vernon hoisted up the other box as well as the bag of food and water, and they all left the house. It was still dark outside, and the streets were empty, under a bitterly cold and cloudy sky. Uncle Vernon rushed everyone through the town, and concerningly, towards the ocean. Were they going to be doing something nautical? Emperor, this was looking worse and worse.  
Sure enough, they soon arrived at the docks, where Uncle Vernon met with a burly fisherman. The fisherman led them all to a boat – a bay craft, eight metres long and armoured only lightly.

“Fantastic,” Uncle Vernon said, and he gestured at the boat with a flourish. “Here we are! Here’s out boat. Dudleus, we’re going fishing!”

There was a pause. 

Dudleus stared at the boat, and then at Uncle Vernon. “Fishing?” he said, wrinkling up his nose. 

“Yep! Me an’ you! Father and son, like. Happy Birthday, Dudleus! Oh, and Harrius is also coming. But that’s not all!” Uncle Vernon continued. He placed down the things he was carrying, and then pointed at the mystery boxes. “This ain’t any old fishing. Do you see any fishing rods? No, you don’t, because we won’t need ‘em! See these boxes Duddy? Guess what’s in it. C’mon, guess!”

Dudleus looked more interested again. “Is it…a lasgun?” he hazarded. 

“Nope, better!”

Uncle Vernon reached down and unlatched the box. Inside were rows of yellow-white sticks, which Harrius didn’t recognise.   
“Sodium bombs!” Uncle Vernon explained, after no one reacted to his reveal. “You chuck ‘em in the water, and they explode! KABOOM! Fish’ll float right to the surface, and you just scoop ‘em up! None of this waiting around until they bite nonsense!” 

Dudleus looked excited all over again. “KABOOM!” he copied. “Yeah! Alright! Let’s blow up some motherfucking fish!”

“Duddy! Language!” Petunia said, shocked.

“Alright!” Uncle Vernon said. “Let’s get on the boat and get going! If we leave too late in the day, the fish’ll leave. Gotta get the high tide! Now, I just have to grab some bait, to draw the fish in closer, and we’ll be off!”

He stumped off to talk to the fisherman again, leaving everyone else to figure out how to get onto the boat. Eagerly, Dudleus clambered in. Harrius hauled his box of bombs on as well, and sat down in the middle of the boat. Petunia, who it seemed was not coming on the fishing trip, stayed on dry land and smiled encouragingly at Dudleus. Harrius wished he had been left behind as well. 

In truth, Harrius wasn’t sure what to think about explosion fishing yet. He’d heard it was something people did before, though he hadn’t ever imagined himself doing it. He’d heard of sodium bombs before as well – they were sticks of mostly sodium, which would blow up after a few seconds of contact with water. They were dangerous, as just getting them wet was what would set them off. But they were perfect for fishing in this manner. 

The other aspect of sodium fishing which made Harrius a bit nervous was the fishing part. There was a reason why the fishing boat they were getting onto was armoured – the fish on Halos were not exactly friendly creatures. Many of them were large, ugly and aggressive, and would not hesitate to dine on human flesh if they found it. Some were downright enormous, and could chow down on entire boats for breakfast – although those ones usually lived in the deeper water beyond the bay, and Harrius had never seen a live one in person. He had seen the ships which travelled between islands however, and they were huge and heavily armoured. 

Ah well – on the plus side, he probably wouldn’t have to do anything. Uncle Vernon and Dudleus could throw bombs at fish all morning, and they probably wouldn’t bother him. He could go back to sleep even, which sounded honestly like a much more enjoyable morning. 

Uncle Vernon returned shortly, looking irate at something. He had a rusty metal bucket with a lid, full of what smelt like decomposing guts.   
“That fellow felt the need to lecture me on how to fish, like I don’t already know,” he grumbled, climbing on board. “I told him, I said, I used to be a fisherman back in the day. I know exactly what I’m doing. But no, he kept telling me anyway. Told me all where I can’t go, and what I can’t do, all that crap. Buddy, I was fishing when you were still a brat ploughing briskwort!”

“Oh, he’s just saying it so if something happens, we can’t take it up with the Magisterium,” Aunt Petunia said. “Just ignore him.”

“Yeah,” Uncle Vernon snorted. “Yeah, fuck him. Let’s go! Dudders, are you ready?” 

“Yeah!” Dudleus yelled, and kicked one of the seats. 

Uncle Vernon untied the boat from the dock with a flourish, and waved goodbye to Petunia, and then moved to the very back of the boat, where the outboard motor was. He revved it, and black smoke wafted out, but it seemed to work fine. Soon, they were speeding out onto the bay and away from the dock. 

The engine was very loud, and Harrius found that it was in fact impossible to snooze. Besides, the horizon was starting to lighten behind the clouds, and that combined with the icy breeze and revolting smell of the bait bucket a few metres away meant that Harrius was wide awake.  
He moved to the edge of the boat, and watched the dark water rush below, and the land go by in the distance. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, he decided. It was nice out here in the bay, despite the smells and sounds which were currently assaulting his senses. If all he had to do today was sit in this boat and chill, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

After some time they reached an area, a hundred or so metres from the jagged shore, and Uncle Vernon cut off the engine. “Looks like a good spot,” he said, moving to drop the anchor. “There’s a reef under here, so should be plenty of critters to blow up. All we need to do is draw ‘em up near the surface…”

He took out a fishing knife and moved to the bait bucket, wrinkling his nose at the stench. Then his eye fell of Harrius, who was trying his best to look busy while doing absolutely nothing.

“Harrius!” he barked. “Take this knife and grab the bait bucket! You can be our bait boy. That’s it, bring it up to the front here. Cut off a nice handful and stick it onto the buoy.”

Harrius approached the bucket with extreme reluctance, and picked it up, bringing it to where Vernon had indicated. Then, after taking a deep breath and holding it in, he took off the lid.

Apparently it had smelt like rotting guts because that’s literally what it was. Old, miscellaneous fish chunks, and a few grey entrails mixed amongst them. He caught sight of a few small white shapes wriggling, and his stomach heaved.

Uncle Vernon had a small red buoy with string through the top and hooks stuck on the bottom, which he gestured at. “Go on! Shove some of the meat on here, and then throw it in!” 

Doing his best to think of anything else than what his hand was currently touching, Harrius held his breath and reached into the bucket. His fingers touched something slimy, and he tried not to gag again. Barely looking at what he was doing, he put in his other hand with the knife, and sawed off a fist sized chunk of whatever it was, and attached it onto the hook.

“Pub anober one ob,” Uncle Vernon said, nose pinched between his fingers. Both he and Dudleus had moved well back. 

Harrius steeled himself and went back into the bucket. Soon enough it was done, and Harrius grabbed the buoy, and dropped it over the side of the boat. Then he firmly closed the bait bucket, which reduced the smell back to bearable levels, and sighed in relief. 

Uncle Vernon and Dudleus pushed past him and looked into the water. Uncle Vernon jerked the string a few times, so that the buoy bobbed up and down, and small particles of rotten flesh drifted down into the depths. 

It was only a few minutes later when the water around the buoy began to twitch with movement.   
“Wait a few minutes longer,” Uncle Vernon told Dudleus, who was already reaching for the sodium bombs. “We want as many of them to be there as possible. The bomb’s blast is strong, but it only affects a small area.”

The movement of the fish became more and more noticeable. Dorsal fins and long, flat tails broke the surface as the fish scrambled to get a bite. Soon, the water around the buoy was seething. Harrius shuddered, picturing what it would be like to fall into that writhing mass of narrow, slimy bodies and needlepoint teeth.  
“Now, Dad?” Dudleus said, reaching for the sodium bombs again.   
Uncle Vernon eyed the water a few seconds longer, and then nodded. “Yes. Throw one in!”

Grinning, Dudleus hefted a sodium bomb, and then lobbed it into the ocean next to the buoy. It sunk slightly, bubbling for a few seconds, and fish surrounded it, curious. Then with a loud POP, it exploded. There was a bright flash, and water erupted into the air and rained back down. Fish scattered. Dudleus yelled in excitement. 

In the bomb’s place, dead fish floated slowly to the surface, bellies pale in the morning light. There were six of them in total, although most of them were pretty small.

Uncle Vernon brought out another tool, a long pole with a net on the end. Using the net, he scooped up all the fish, and dumped them on the deck. The smaller ones were the size of Harrius’ hand and mottled brown in colour, with snaggle fangs and wet black eyes. The two larger ones were a different species, grey in colour and as long and thin as Harrius’ arm, with paddle shaped fins and bulging yellow eyeballs. Harrius had seen both species dried and for sale at the market – the grey ones got much larger, some of them considerably longer than he was tall.

“Well there ya go, Dudleus!” Uncle Vernon was saying proudly. “Your first fishing haul! Just like your old man, you’re gonna be!”

“They’re not very big,” Dudleus pouted, poking the largest one with his foot. “I want a bigger fish, Dad!”

“That’s alright, Duddy!” Uncle Vernon said. “We’re just getting started! Harrius! Bring in the buoy and put more bait on it! We’re gonna get us a two metre, Duddy, just you watch!”

Harrius put more bait on the hooks, more chunks this time, and they threw the buoy back in. This time they waited a bit longer, until Uncle Vernon was sure he’d spotted a larger fish or two. Then Dudleus threw another bomb, and more fish floated to the surface. To his disappointment however, there were only small brown fish this time. 

Angrily, Dudleus got Harrius to put even more meat on the hooks – but to no avail. Again, when he threw the bomb, he got only small fish. 

At this point, Dudleus began complaining that fishing was boring, and that this birthday sucked, and then in a fit of petty rage, he dumped all of the fish they had caught so far back into the ocean. Harrius sighed and sat himself down as far away as possible, while Uncle Vernon tried to convince Dudleus that he was having fun. Eventually though, Uncle Vernon decided that this place was just bad for fishing in general, and that they should go somewhere else. 

“It’s that blasted fisherman,” he grumbled, reeling in the anchor. “He told me to come here, but I bet he sent us here because he knew we wouldn’t catch anything good! He’s keeping all the good spots to himself! Ha! Well, he didn’t reckon that I used to be a fisherman, did he! I know where to look, probably better than he does!”

The boat set off again. Uncle Vernon followed the cliffs further along, towards the mouth of the bay. At a point very close to the bay entrance, he stopped, and dropped anchor.

Harrius wasn’t so enthusiastic about their new location. It was windier here, and the water was much rougher than the last place, sucking in and out of the bay entrance with considerable force. Harrius could see the waves rolling in underneath them, and then crashing violently against the cliffs.   
“This spot is great!” Uncle Vernon yelled happily over the wind. “I can tell, trust me! Loads of big fish out here! We’ll catch a two metre for sure!”

He got Harrius to load the bait hooks again, but this time with considerably larger chunks. “Gotta draw up the big ones!” he kept saying, while gesturing for Harrius to put more on. 

Harrius somewhat reluctantly dropped the buoy into the ocean. There was so much bait on it, that it rode half in the water, instead of floating on top like before. 

Almost immediately, more fish appeared – and if nothing else, Uncle Vernon was right in that they were definitely larger. There were none of the small brown ones here, only the grey ones, and judging by the size of their paddle-like fins which occasionally breached the surface, they were hefty specimens. Dudleus yelled in excitement, brandishing a sodium bomb in each hand, ready to launch. Uncle Vernon told him to wait a bit longer, but Dudleus couldn’t contain his desire to blow up fish for long, and tossed both sodium bombs into the ocean at once. 

The bombs exploded, blasting water high into the air, and the water all around the small fishing boat thrashed wildly as the gathering fish scrambled to get away. Three dead ones floated to the surface, and all three were enormous. The smallest one was already longer than Harrius was tall.   
Dudleus was jumping up and down and yelling incoherently, as Uncle Vernon leaned out and dragged the largest fish towards the boat with his pole. It was huge, well over two metres and as thick as Harrius’ torso. It looked like it had received one of the sodium bombs directly to its face, as its snaggle-toothed snout was deformed and partially melted, eye jelly running into the ocean. 

“Harrius, grab onto it, help me bring it in!” Uncle Vernon huffed, struggling to pull the slimy corpse on board. “Dudleus, you too! Attaboy!”

With some difficulty, they managed to haul the fish onto the boat, where it slipped to the deck with a solid thump.  
“Look at this thing!” Uncle Vernon yelled, slapping Dudleus on the back enthusiastically. “Look at the size of it! I’d say three metres for sure! You know, boy, this one’s rare! You’ll catch a fair price for it at the market. Must’ve come in from beyond the bay!”

Grinning, he got his pole and began dragging the next corpse on board as well. Dudleus meanwhile began poking at his catch, while Harrius looked on, somewhat in awe despite himself. He hadn’t seen many fish of this size before, even in the market. Usually these ones stayed out in the ocean proper, where most of the local fishermen didn’t dare go. The weather outside the bay was unpredictable, and although the fish were larger, they also began to pose a serious threat to small fishing vessels. 

Uncle Vernon swore suddenly, which caused both Harrius and Dudleus to look away from the monster fish. Uncle Vernon was batting the water with his pole. “Get outta here,” he snapped. “Blasted fish are trying to eat our catch. Here, Dudleus – chuck in another bomb, chase ‘em off! We need to get the dead ones in quickly, or the others come back and start eating ‘em!”

Dudleus grabbed another bomb and threw it in the water, causing the fish to churn away, and allowing Uncle Vernon to drag in the next corpse, a solid two metre grey. Although less impressive than the first one, it was still a considerable catch. Uncle Vernon was beaming as he reached out for the third fish, which was a bit further away. 

“That last bomb of yours seems to have really scared ‘em off,” he commented, as he began slowly dragging the pole in. “Water’s gone all quiet! We’re going to have t – ARGH!”

He dropped the pole entirely, steadying himself on the side of the boat and staring into the water. 

“What the flying fuck was that?” Harrius heard him mutter, and he turned around, face a bit red. 

“Emperor preserve me, something just grabbed the fish and pulled the pole right out of my hands! Greedy bugger! Took the whole thing!” 

He stepped back a bit, looking apprehensively into the water. 

“Duddy,” he said, “grab the bombs. I think there’s an even bigger one down there.”

“Even bigger?” Dudleus grabbed the box containing the rest of the bombs. “How big?”

“Huge,” Uncle Vernon said. “I don’t know why it’s in the bay. But if we can kill it…”

He leaned further over the water, staring down into its depths. “Where are you, fishy fishy,” he muttered, a bomb held out over the water. “Come get a taste of my…”

THUMP!

The entire boat suddenly shuddered violently. Harrius and Dudleus both fell over, and Uncle Vernon tipped forwards. At the last moment, he managed to stop himself from falling into the ocean, but he dropped the sodium bomb in the process. With a bang, it exploded right below him, shooting hot steam into his face. Yelling, Uncle Vernon threw himself back onto the deck, eyes jammed closed. 

Dudleus began to scream, as the boat jolted violently. Harrius sat paralysed. The trip had been going so well! For once, it had seemed like they could have had an uneventful birthday trip!

Uncle Vernon got onto hands and knees, his face raw and red, and tried to see through the tears streaming from his eyes. The boat shuddered again. “Get the anchor!” he yelled, crawling blindly towards the back of the boat. “Shallow water, we need…agk…we need to get to shallower water. Duddy! Harrius, someone, get the damn anchor!”

Spurred into action by the direct order, Harrius scrambled for the anchor, and began to reel it upwards. He’s barely started though, before Dudleus suddenly screamed a lot louder. 

Harrius turned around to see what had happened, and froze. A monster had appeared – an enormous serpent-like beast had risen out of the water, just mere metres away from Harrius near the front of the boat. It was huge and olive green with brown and black patterning, its head alone larger than Harrius, its round, glassy fish eyes as large as dinner plates. For a moment, it hung there calmly perusing the boat, before it opened its jaws and ponderously bit down on a section of the boat with a heavy crunch.

Dudleus began to yell incomprehensively, as he lifted the entire box of remaining sodium bombs and threw it in the direction of the serpent. It hit the water a few metres from the beast, and sank. The bombs all went off at once, in a violent crackling cloud of steam. The serpent jerked back – but it ripped a large chunk of the boat with it. 

On seeing that he’d missed, Dudleus wailed, and grabbed Uncle Vernon and started shaking him. Uncle Vernon meanwhile could barely see what was happening through his watering eyes. “What the fuck is that? What’s that noise? Dudleus, get off me! WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

The serpent had left a sizable hole in the side of the boat, and water had started to gurgle on board. Hearing this, Uncle Vernon began swearing in streams, his efforts to reach the rear of the boat redoubled. 

Harrius, meanwhile, watched in numb horror as the serpent let go of the boat chunk, and nuzzled forwards, until it found the three metre fish they’d caught earlier. Almost delicately, it nipped the fish by the tail and dragged it closer, before grabbing the thing, tossing it upwards with an effortless flick of its jaws, and catching it between knife-sized teeth.

Water continued to slosh onto the boat with each wave, rapidly flooding the front half. As water washed over his ankles, and the serpent retreated into the water to swallow its prize, Harrius was again spurred into action. He feverishly finished reeling up the anchor, and then grabbed the bait bucket. Tipping the remaining contents overboard, he frantically began using the bucket to bail water. Meanwhile, Uncle Vernon had reached the engine finally, and pulled the cord, starting it up with a roar. 

For a moment, they began moving, and Harrius dared to hope that they could get away. But then, as they changed angle, a wave from the ocean swamped the entire front half of the boat, far more water than Harrius could ever hope to remove with one bucket. The entire boat listed to its damaged side, and the front began bubbling as water rushed to fill every crevice. The back of the boat tipped upwards. Dudleus resumed screaming.

In despair, Harrius held the bucket and watched as the boat began to sink, nose first. Numbly, he moved up the deck away from the water and to where his uncle was, aware that they were probably seconds away from being eaten by a fish. This was it – this was officially the Worst Birthday Ever.

As Uncle Vernon desperately and unsuccessfully tried to turn the boat out of the swell again, and Dudleus continued to scream and cry, the serpent reappeared. Slowly, it rose out of the water near the sinking hull of the boat, and snaked forwards.

Uncle Vernon, his eyes still streaming, could apparently see well enough, because he clamped his hand over Dudleus’ mouth to shut him up. The serpent nosed the deck, getting closer and closer. Its weight tipped the boat even more, and the spinning blades of the rotor came free of the water entirely.

Harrius looked around frantically as the serpent closed in, but all around was only hostile water and angry cliffs. Beside him, Dudleus wriggled in terror, his legs kicking, which unfortunately drew the serpent’s attention. Abruptly it lunged towards Dudleus. 

Before it got there however, Uncle Vernon acted. He grabbed Harrius by the shoulders and shoved him into the serpent’s path.

Harrius barely registered the sting of betrayal, that his own uncle had just thrown him deliberately into harms’ way. His mind filled entirely with the image of the serpent, mouth open as it surged up the deck towards him. Fear reached a critical mass. Time seemed to slow, as morning light glinted off dull green scales and rows and rows of white serrated teeth. Harrius stared down certain death, and in the midst of the turmoil that had been the last few minutes, he felt a sudden calm. And at the centre of the calm, he felt something inside of him shift.

It was like a switch flicking on, a door opening which he had been subconsciously holding closed for years. Time and space suddenly felt oddly elastic, malleable, but also fragile. In that moment, Harrius became intensely aware that the world was made of two layers, and that all this time he had only known about the one. He had been like an insect crawling on the hard skin of a fruit, unaware of the richness below. Like an illiterate man in a library, who had suddenly learned to read. Suddenly, he could feel the other layer, and touch it. And instinctively he knew that he could use it as well. 

He looked down at his hand, to where he still clutched the bait bucket. Useless, a pathetic instrument in the face of a monster. Although perhaps it would serve to buy time?

Calmly, he raised the bucket, and then he hurled it as hard as he could towards the serpent. As he did so, he reached tentatively for the deeper layer, and he pushed, and in a rush of exhilaration he felt it respond. The bucket was boosted with unnatural force, and with a considerable CRACK, it connected with the serpent’s snout. 

The serpent recoiled, startled. Harrius meanwhile, used the moment of reprieve to look around again, but this time with the knowledge of the other layer to aid him. Nothing was fixed, and everything could be changed. The serpent didn’t have to be here. The boat didn’t have to sink. They didn’t have to die. Fate could be his to do with as he willed. 

His eye caught on the spinning blades of the motor, tipping ever higher into the air as the boat dove nose down. He felt the rotation of the blades, how the blades connected to the rest of the motor, and most importantly, how he could unmake that connection. Concentrating, he willed the changes promised by the second layer into effect on the first layer. Screws twisted their way out of sockets, and bolts pinged away into the ocean. The spinning blades were free. Harrius carefully lifted the blades just off the shaft, preserving their rotation. Then, he turned his attention back to the serpent.

Mere seconds had passed, and the serpent was still recovering from the bucket to its nose. It shook its head, as if confused that such small prey could ever be a threat. But on seeing Harrius crouched before it on the now basically vertical boat, perched on what had been the back of a seat, it forgot its sore snout, and lunged again.   
Harrius thrust out his arm, making the action of throwing, although his hand was empty. Instead he reached again for the other layer, and the spinning blades from the rotor shot forwards at immense speed, burying deeply in the throat of the serpent.

Blood sprayed, misting the air in red, and the serpent gurgled and began to thrash violently. Throwing itself backwards, it vanished underwater in a swirl of red foam. Harrius felt power and victory surge through him, and he grinned wildly.  
There was one more immediate problem however – the sinking boat. This one was a bit trickier, as the boat was large and heavy, and the movements of the ocean felt a lot harder to predict or control, on a much larger scale than the rotor blades. But did he really need the entire boat? All he needed was some sort of floating vessel to bring him back to shore.

Harrius reached into the other layer again, but this time he pulled rather than pushing, causing the nearby walls of the boat around him to buckle inwards and form a new wall. The fabric of the boat was strong, and Harrius strained with effort, focusing on one part at a time. He pulled the layers of the universe closer together to work with them better, but he did it roughly, and felt some of the second layer spill into the first. He didn’t know what effect this would have, though something in him felt off about it. Instinctually he knew the layers shouldn’t mix.

More cautiously, Harrius finished his work, mashing the walls together and severing his watertight truncation from the rest of the boat. The now much shorter boat plopped into the water, where it bobbed up and down. A small amount of water had made it on board, but it could be removed, and there was no longer a hole. 

Grinning to himself again, Harrius let go his grip on the other layer. He didn’t need it anymore. They weren’t sinking, and the monster was gone. He was safe. 

As he let go, he felt it recede, fading from his perception and leaving just the first layer. Abruptly, he felt both hot and cold at once, like being sick, and his body was hit by a heavy wave of dizzying exhaustion. He sunk to the floor. It smelt bad down here, pungent and metallic, sort of like blood, but Harrius was too tired to wonder why or bother to move. He closed his eyes, and curled up in a ball, his senses rapidly shutting down. As he let the exhaustion take him, he heard Uncle Vernon’s voice screaming something, but he was too tired to care what the words were.


	5. Witch!

Harrius awoke in a darkened room and had a moment of total confusion. Where was he? How had he got here? Was it day or night?

A moment later however, he recognised the bare light bulb in the grimy ceiling above, and realised that he was just in his room under the stairs. It was Saturday morning, and this was a perfectly normal place to wake up. Any moment his aunt would come and knock on the door and get him to help her make a special birthday breakfast for Dudleus…

Wait…

Harrius sat up bolt upright in bed as his memory started to return, fumbling for his glasses and jamming them onto his face. He realised he was fully clothed, shoes and all, and the clothes smelt absolutely revolting, like someone had dipped them in eel juice, and then left them in the sun to fester for a few months.

He hurriedly turned on his lamp and was shocked to find that his clothes were covered in stiff, dried blood, dark red-brown and soaked right through to the inner lining. Where had it come from? And why was there so much of it? Disgusted and a bit scared, Harrius stripped his clothes and put on cleaner ones.

As he did so, he checked to make sure the blood wasn’t coming from him – but he wasn’t missing any limbs, and aside from a faint headache, he felt fine physically. At the same time though, he began to remember the fishing trip proper, and everything that had gone wrong. The sodium bombs, the sea monster, the boat starting to sink, and…the next bit.

Had that part really happened?

Harrius looked down at his hands, a perfectly normal pair of hands, and wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing. There was no way he’d actually thrown the rotor at the sea monster with his mind, right? Or crushed the sinking boat into a new shape? That was just too weird. He’d probably been hallucinating out of terror.

But if he’d imagined it, then where had the blood come from? How much of it had he imagined? Whose blood was it? The sea monster’s? Uncle Vernon’s? Feeling extremely uneasy, he decided that his best plan of action would be to find Uncle Vernon, and ask him what had happened.   
It was then however that he discovered that the door to his cupboard was apparently stuck shut.

Panic started to rise within him, and he shoved on the inside of the door, but it didn’t budge. “Hey!” he yelled, knocking frantically. “Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia! I’m stuck! The door’s stuck shut! Dudleus, are you there?”

As he paused to breathe in, he heard faint, quick footsteps from outside, like someone running. 

“Hey!” he yelled. “Come back! Open the door! Please?”

He went quiet again, and pressed his ear against the door. He thought he could hear faint voices from the kitchen, although he couldn’t make out who they were or what they were saying. 

If he could hear them though, then surely they could hear him as well? It dawned on him then that he had been purposefully locked in his room, and he stopped knocking, mind racing.

He was being punished for something, clearly – that was the only time Petunia ever locked him in, when he’d done something particularly bad. But what was he being punished for? Awful scenarios immediately began to play out in his head. Uncle Vernon and Dudleus were both dead, and Harrius was being blamed. A squad of Arbites would come and arrest him for their murders – and his clothes were covered in their blood as damning evidence! Even if they gave him a trial, would they believe him when he told them a sea monster was actually responsible? No – he would be taken away to a penal mine forever! 

Fortunately, his train of thought was derailed as footsteps approached his cupboard. Harrius stepped back, heart leaping into his throat, as he heard a key jangle, and the door began to open. 

As he squinted into the light however, he slowly realised that it wasn’t an Arbites officer waiting to arrest him, or even his aunt ready to yell at him. Instead, it was-

“Augustus?”

The engineer gave him a smile. “Harrius,” he said. 

Harrius ran out of his cupboard and threw his arms around the man’s waist. Augustus crouched down to his knees and let Harrius hug him properly. His red robes smelt like machine oil and incense, which was a million times better than the scent of mouldering fish guts in his room. 

“Alright, alright,” Augustus said, patting Harrius gently on the back. “How are you holding up, young man?”

Harrius just shook his head, tears springing to his eyes. 

“Well that’s understandable, you’ve had quite the morning,” Augustus said. “Although,” he continued hesitantly, “unfortunately I can’t say things are over for you just yet. In fact, they’re just beginning, in some respects. You’re going to have to be brave, Harrius. Braver than usual.”

Harrius stepped back and looked at Augustus. “What do you mean?” he sniffed. “Are…are Uncle Vernon and Dudleus…?”

“Oh, your uncle and cousin are perfectly fine,” Augustus said. “Thanks to you, or so I hear. They’re a little shaken I suppose, but unharmed.”

“They are?” Harrius breathed. “Oh, thank the Emperor.”

He sniffed loudly, and took off his glasses to wipe the tears from his face. And then he paused, and looked back at Augustus. 

“Wait, if they’re fine – then where did all the blood come from?”

“Ah, well,” Augustus said – and for the first time, Harrius noticed how stressed the engineer looked.

Just then there was a slight noise from the kitchen, and Harrius glanced to the side. He was surprised to see another person standing there, watching them – a balding man, in elaborate white and gold robes. The fact that he wore white robes was already a dead giveaway, but the gold pin on his lapel confirmed that he was a Ministorum priest. Judging by the intricacy of the trimming, he was high ranking too.

The priest was wearing an expression of mild distain, which became more pronounced when he met Harrius’ gaze. “Adept Fabri,” he addressed Augustus, looking Harrius up and down as he did so, in the same way he might look at a piece of dung on the bottom of his shoe. “Please keep this interaction brief. Fraternisation with witches is illegal, must I remind you?”

“I am aware,” Augustus said wearily. “But in this particular circumstance, it is more beneficial to avoid raising unnecessary panic, as that would only exacerbate the situation. That’s why I’m here at all, is it not?”

“Humph,” the priest said, and he turned away. “Well, get on with it. We’re all waiting!”

Harrius stared at the priest’s back, confused. “Waiting?” he asked. “Who’s waiting? And what do witches have to do with it?”

“Harrius,” Augustus said carefully. 

“And why is he here anyway?” Harrius continued. “What’s going on???”

“Harrius, listen to me,” Augustus placed his hands on Harrius’ shoulders. “I’m not sure exactly what you remember happening this morning – but your uncle has told an interesting tale. He claims that while fishing at dawn, you were all attacked by a large and violent variety of sea-beast, and would have all died, except that you intervened. He says that you used “witchcraft” to drive the beast off, and prevent the boat from sinking.”

“I,” Harrius said. “Uhhh…”

“There’s no real easy way to say this,” Augustus continued softly, “but your uncle has accused you of being a witch. The Ministorum priests are here to, well, to try you. I would say they are here to decide whether or not it’s true, but that’s not quite right. They are already certain you’re a witch. They are just here to confirm it.”

Harrius stared at him, lost for words. In his mind, the memory of throwing the rotor with supernatural force resurfaced. 

“Oh,” he said. “I…that really happened…?”

“Now, I must urge you to remain calm, and think over every word you say before you say it,” Augustus said. “I’m not going to lie, and tell you everything is going to be OK. But if you make a good enough impression with the priests, then…well…let’s just say it’s really important that you make a good impression, OK?”

“O-OK,” Harrius said.

“To battle, then,” Augustus said, and he stood up and held out a hand for Harrius to take.

They entered the kitchen, and Harrius saw that it had been entirely rearranged, and was full of people. 

Uncle Vernon was there, although there was no sign of Dudleus or Petunia. He was the only person Harrius recognised. He was sitting in the corner, face red, a wild, bloodshot look in his eyes. He stared at Harrius when he came in like the boy was a damp case of sodium bombs.

There were two more Ministorum priests, these ones decked out in body armour, and carrying flamer guns on their hips. They were standing against the wall, at ease, but ready to jump into action and start burning things at a moment’s notice. 

There was also an elderly woman in the room, Administratum, Harrius guessed, sitting and grasping a notepad and pen in claw-like hands.

And then there was the bald priest, sitting in the middle and glaring at Harrius.

“Good of you to join us, Adept,” he said dryly to Augustus. 

Augustus sighed. “You brought me here to be your ‘good cop’, so I’m going to do it properly,” he said calmly. “Harrius is only ten years old, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening. It’s only fair that you give him a little time.”

“Actually, I’m eleven now,” Harrius said dazedly.

The room was arranged so that the table and most of the seats were at one end – and a single wooden chair was at the other end, facing the rest. Augustus directed Harrius to this one chair, and then retreated to the side. Harrius sat, facing everyone else in the room, and felt very small and singled out. He hunched in on himself and hugged his knees to his chest. 

“Alright then,” the bald priest said, sitting up straight. “The accused is lucid and present, so let the trial commence. Date, time, location, etcetera – Balbina, you already have that down, correct?”

“Correct,” the Administratum woman croaked, flipping open her notepad.

“In that case, the accused will now state his name?”

“Um,” Harrius said after a pause. “Harrius Potter.”

The Administratum woman began to scribble down words, while the bald priest fixed Harrius with another baleful stare. 

“Mr Potter, we have received reports that you were seen wielding sorcerous powers,” he said. “In other words, you are accused of being a witch. How do you plead to this accusation?”

“W-what?” Harrius said. “I mean…uh, maybe?”

“I need a yes or a no,” the priest said impatiently. “Do you admit to being a witch or not?”

“I,” Harrius glanced at Augustus, who was keeping a completely neutral expression. “I really don’t know, actually. I’m sorry. I don’t really know what happened.”

“He is a witch,” Uncle Vernon spoke up from the corner. “I saw him! You all saw the boat! You saw what he did to it!”

“Silence, please,” the bald priest said. “We have already recorded your testimony, Mr Dursley. There is no need to restate your evidence. Mr Potter, do you remember the events which took place earlier this morning?”

“I think so,” Harrius said. 

“If you will then, please state your recollection of said events for all to hear,” the priest said.

Harrius blinked. “Um. Well. We went fishing, for Dudleus’ birthday. We caught some fish, but they weren’t very big, so we went further out, to the mouth of the bay.”

Uncle Vernon shifted uncomfortably at this, but all eyes were on Harrius.

“While we were there, a very big fish attacked us,” Harrius said. “Like, really, really big. Its head was as large as a full-grown man. It ripped a hole in the boat, and we started sinking. The boat tipped up, and I thought we were going to die.”

“And then what happened?” the bald priest leaned in.

“Um,” Harrius said. “I, uh. I guess I did something?”

“What did you do exactly?”

“There was, this other layer,” Harrius frowned. “Like, in reality, I mean. I could suddenly see it for some reason. And I realised I could move things around with it and stop the boat sinking. So…I did that?”

At this, everyone in the room stirred and glanced at each other meaningfully. “Witchcraft,” Uncle Vernon said from his corner, eyes bugging out.

“Well, there we have it,” the bald priest said, leaning back again. “Open and shut case. This boy is a witch. Wouldn’t it be nice if all our cases were this straightforward, eh Balbina? We didn’t even have to bring out the kit!”

“Yes, very good,” Balbina said, without looking up from her writing.

“OK, what happens now, then?” Augustus asked from the side of the room.

“Now, we shall test the severity of the affliction,” the bald priest said. “And then the accused shall be sentenced.”

“Sentenced?” Harrius squeaked.

“Yes,” the priest said. “To be a witch is to commit a terrible crime against the Imperium.”

“But…I didn’t mean to-”

“It is a crime nonetheless,” the priest said, taking out a scroll from his robes. “Now, Mr Potter. I have a list of questions for you. You are to answer them with only the truth, understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. The first question is this: on what previous occasions have you communed with the warp, or partaken in the warp’s powers, barring the events of this morning?”

“Umm,” Harrius said. “The warp? As in, the thing spaceships fly through?”

“I am talking about this, ‘other layer’, which you mentioned earlier,” the priest waved a hand. “When else have you ‘seen’ it?”

“Well, I’ve never seen it, before this morning,” Harrius said. 

“Right,” the priest glanced at the Administratum woman, who was writing furiously again. “Next question: have you ever experienced premonitions, prophetic dreams, or strong, seemingly irrational feelings which later turned out to be correct?”

“Uh, no?” Harrius said. “If I have, I can’t remember. I don’t really remember my dreams that much usually.”

“I see. What about ghosts? Apparitions, spectres, monsters, voices in your head. Have you seen or heard anything of that sort, recently, or at any point within your life?”

“No? I’ve never seen a ghost,” Harrius said. These questions were not what he’d been expecting at all.

“Right,” the priest continued. “And have you noticed anything especially strange about your body recently? I am talking about tumours or growths, anomalous skin formations, feathers, horns, or scales, enhanced senses, or unusual disease symptoms?”

“Uh, none of those things, no. Although I was sick a few months ago and had red spots all over. Does that count?”

“Did you enjoy being sick?”

“What? No, of course not!”

“Then it is not of interest,” the priest said. “And do you experience powerful swings in emotion? For example, do you lose your temper easily?”

“Um, not really?”

“Not really?”

“I mean, I sometimes get angry. But I think it’s a normal amount of angry?”

“I see.”

The priest went silent and eyed Harrius for a long moment. Harrius shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.  
“Very good,” the priest said at last. “That will be all. I believe we have enough evidence. Would anyone else like to add any final comments?”

“I would like to add,” Augustus said, “that by my judgement, and throughout the years I have known him, Harrius is a bright and hard-working young boy who, with the proper training, would be nothing but an asset to the Imperium.”

“Anyone else?” the priest asked. 

“Did you write that down?” Augustus insisted.

“Yes, she wrote it down, Adept. Anyone else? No? In that case, it is time for the sentence...”

Harrius held his breath, as the priest stood up, and placed his hands over his chest in the sign of the aquilla.

“By the power invested in me by the Holy Ecclesiarchy and with those present and the God-Emperor as my witness, I proclaim the sentence thusly: the accused, Harrius Potter, has committed a significant act of sorcery, as asserted by multiple witnesses, and corroborated by his own testimony. He is therefore condemned as a witch under the Imperial Doctrine and in the eyes of the God-Emperor. The standard punishment for such an irreversible and unforgivable crime is immediate execution.”

Harrius blanched, and nearly fell off his chair in horror.

“However,” the balding priest continued. “Considering the youthful age of the accused, his lack of previous psychic incident, his apparent state of untaintedness by the Ruinous Powers, and his potential usefulness as a tool for the Imperial war effort, he is instead to be sentenced to Exile. He shall be placed into the care of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica and sent to Holy Terra. There, he will be trained as a sanctioned psyker, or he will die. Either way, he is never to return to Halos – and in short, he will no longer be our problem. Thusly is he sentenced, and this trial is complete. Praise be to the Emperor.”


	6. The House of Celuya

“I’m not really a witch,” Harrius mumbled. 

It was twenty minutes or so after the trial, and Harrius was sitting in the back compartment of a Ministorum vehicle, behind a mesh cage. His hands were shackled behind his back with a set of handcuffs which looked much too heavy-duty for restraining a child, and he couldn’t remember if anyone had mentioned where they were taking him. He wasn’t sure if he cared, either. The entire day had taken on a dreamlike, unreal quality. 

At least Augustus was still there – Harrius was grateful for that. The engineer was sitting on the other side of the cage, and kept glancing back at Harrius with a concerned expression.  
The two flamer-wielding Ministorum priests were also in the car, one driving, and the other sitting in the back opposite Augustus. She still had her flamer with her, and Harrius wondered if she intended to use it, inside the car.

“What do you mean?” Augustus asked now, in response to Harrius’ statement.

“I mean, I’m not evil, like witches are,” Harrius said. “Witches cackle, and speak in tongues, and set fire to things with lightning which comes out of their hands. Like that girl in the story you told me the other day. I don’t want to do any of that! I don’t…I don’t want to kill people!”

“You’re not evil, Harrius,” Augustus said. “And perhaps you’re also right in saying you aren’t a witch, at least in the sense that you mean. But you ARE a psyker. There’s no escaping from that fact.”

“I’m a what?” Harrius said. 

“A psyker. And a thumping good one, if even half of what your uncle said is true.” 

“What’s a psyker?”

“Well, in a way, it’s just another word for witch,” Augustus said. “But it’s a more respectable word. A psyker is a witch who works for the Imperium, instead of against it.”

“Oh,” Harrius said.

He was quiet for a moment, question after question crowding in his brain and vying for attention.

“Augustus,” he began after a long pause, “I still don’t really know what a wi…what a psyker is. As in, how does it work? I sort of understand what I did, but not really? I don’t know if I could do it again, even if someone asked me to.”

Augustus glanced at the Ministorum priest, but she was looking out the window and pretending not to listen. 

“Well, fundamentally,” he said, “I suppose you could say a psyker is a person who has a strong connection to the warp. Most people have some level of connection to the warp, but for the vast majority, that connection is weak and entirely subconscious. A psyker’s connection is a lot stronger, and they are able to tap into the warp at will and use its power to manipulate reality, in ways which are incomprehensible to regular folk. That’s what you did this morning on the bay.”

“OK,” Harrius said, “so, what’s the warp, then? I thought it was just the thing spaceships flew in. But everyone keeps saying it like it’s something else?”

“Well, yes, it is the same warp which spaceships fly through, but it’s much more than that,” Augustus said. “I don’t actually know a lot about it, but I believe it’s a sort of, parallel dimension, where time and space and matter are a lot more malleable. It is everywhere, underlaying all of reality, so to speak.”

“Huh,” Harrius said. “I guess that makes sense.” 

“You would probably know better than I, to be perfectly honest,” Augustus said. “I’ve never seen it, whereas you have. But Harrius – the warp is extremely dangerous. In fact,” he added, glancing at the priest again, who was sitting very stiffly. “Those who know more about the topic than I often claim that it is actively malicious. It will be irresponsible of me to not mention that. If wielded incorrectly, the warp can cause untold problems. It is common to hear stories of psykers who lose control, and go mad, or turn into monsters, or explode in a ball of fire. If I were you, Harrius, I would stay away from the warp as much as you can. You mustn’t abuse your connection to it, or terrible things will happen. Just like what happened to Josie Leviticus. You do not want to end up like her, do you?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t even know how I found the, uh, warp, last time,” Harrius said. “Even if I did want to use it again. Which I don’t.”

“Good,” Augustus said. “That’s the correct attitude to have. Although, you will use the warp again, Harrius. Where they’re sending you, you’ll be taught how to do it, but properly, and with control.”

“Where ARE they sending me anyway?” Harrius frowned.

“Holy Terra, I believe.”

Harrius stared at him. “Really? I mean, I heard them say that, but do they mean THE Holy Terra? The planet? Where the Emperor lives?”

“The very same,” Augustus flashed a smile. “Cradle of humanity, holy world of holy words, etcetera etcetera. I believe there’s a school there for young psykers like yourself.”

“Huh,” Harrius said. “School, on Holy Terra. Awesome!” He gave Augustus a small grin. Today had been, for the most part, the worst day of his entire life, but this was one silver lining.

The vehicle had been steadily moving uphill this entire time and, as Harrius sat and imagined accidentally bumping into the Emperor of Mankind on Terra, they turned into a wide courtyard, before an enormous gothic-style cathedral. The cathedral was called The House of Celuya, and was the largest cathedral, if not the largest building, on all of Privet Isla. It was named after Canoness Celuya, a Halosian born member of the Adeptus Sororitas, who had allegedly gone on to perform several heroic and evangelical acts elsewhere in the galaxy. Harrius had been inside two or three times a year for most years of his life, on days like Sanguinala or Candlemass, when the entire town shuffled inside its lofty, strained-glass halls for a sermon. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here now though.

The vehicle stopped, and the flamer-priest got out and opened the back door. “Out,” she gestured at Harrius.

As Harrius clumsily climbed out without using his hands, the priest turned to Augustus and bowed her head slightly. “Adept, your time and services have been greatly appreciated,” she said flatly. “On behalf of the Ecclesiarchy, I offer my thanks.”

“It was my pleasure to help,” Augustus said. “Harrius is a good kid, and he doesn’t deserve this.”

“The witch-child will henceforth be under our care and jurisdiction,” the flamer-priest said. “Until such date when the Blackship arrives, and he is handed over to the Astra Telepathica.”

“Oh, and how long will that be?”

“We approximate the Blackship’s arrival to be six weeks.”

“Right, could be worse, then,” Augustus said. “And may I ask whether he will be allowed visitors during that time?”

“No visitors,” the priest said. “Only members of the Ecclesiarchy will be permitted to interact with the witch-child. The danger of taint is too high.”

“I see,” Augustus sighed. “Well. In that case.” He turned to Harrius and gave him a sad smile. “Harrius, I’m afraid this is goodbye.”

“What?” Harrius said, alarmed. “No!”

Augustus approached Harrius and crouched down to his height. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “All you’ll see is Ministorum priests from now on. None of us “cool and hip” Mechanicus priests. But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be civil.” 

“No! I don’t want you to leave!” Harrius said, and he felt tears spring to his eyes.

Augustus held open his arms, and Harrius ran in and buried his face into the engineer’s shoulder. He stayed there for a while, wishing his hands were free to hug the man properly, the red cloth becoming damp under his face. Augustus patted him on the back.  
“I’m sorry, that all this happened,” he said. “That you had to go through this. And for what you’ll go through in the future. You don’t deserve any of it, and the galaxy isn’t fair. But you’ll get stronger, I know it, and you’ll do great things. You’ll get so strong, and you’ll meet fantastic new people, and see the stars up close, and Holy Terra and Mars, and all the other thousands of wonders of the Imperium. Then one day we’ll catch up, and you’ll have even more stories and knowledge than I ever did.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Harrius whispered. “They said I can’t ever come back here, to Halos!”

“Ah, well then,” Augustus said, “I’ll just have to leave it, I suppose.”

The flamer-priest made an impatient noise, and so reluctantly, Augustus let go of Harrius and they both stood up straight. Harrius thought he saw the man wipe away some moisture in his eyes, but it was very quick, and his own vision was blurry with tears as it was, so he couldn’t be sure. 

The flamer-priest clasped Harrius firmly by the shoulder. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said. “Time to go. Wave bye bye to Adept Fabri, now. That’s right. Off we go!”

Much too fast for Harrius’ liking, she frogmarched him away across the yard. He tried to twist his neck and catch one last glimpse of Augustus, but it was a futile effort, and then he was taken around the side of the cathedral and out of sight entirely.

Harrius didn’t pay much attention to where he was taken, but he got the impression of stairs and more stairs and long, dim corridors, before he was dumped unceremoniously into a windowless room. His handcuffs were removed, and then the door was closed and locked behind him. 

Rubbing his wrists and wiping the tears from his eyes, Harrius took this new room in. It was clean and well lit, and contained a reasonable amount of furniture, but it was unquestionably a prison cell.

Harrius couldn’t find the mental space to fret about this however. Instead he just climbed onto the small bed which was in the corner, shoes and all, and buried his face into the lumpy pillow. 

He stayed like that for a while, moving only to take off his shoes, and crawl under the blanket. At some point, the lights turned off, plunging his room into total darkness, but he didn’t mind. Eventually, he fell asleep. 

When he woke, it was because of hunger. His stomach was growling painfully, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the dinner before the fishing trip. He wasn’t sure how long ago that was exactly, but it felt like years. 

It was still pitch black in his room, although a slight amount of yellow light was coming from the cracks around the door. Carefully, Harrius climbed out of bed and moved towards it. 

The door was very heavy and made out of metal, with a small sliding panel at its centre, currently closed. There was also a keyhole, which Harrius put his eye to. Outside, he could make out a stone corridor with a single, painfully bright lightbulb in the ceiling. Changing his angle, he also saw there was a man outside, in a Ministorum uniform. A guard, most likely. Harrius debated whether or not to draw the guard’s attention for several minutes, before his stomach growled violently and made up his mind for him.

As politely as he could, he knocked on the inside of his door. “Hello?” he said loudly. “Mr Guard?” 

There was a shuffling from outside, and muffled voices, and then someone slid open the metal panel. A pair of suspicious eyes peered in at Harrius. “What?”

“Um,” Harrius said, “could…could I please have some food? I’m really hungry.”

The eyes narrowed. “It’s five in the morning. You’re going to have to wait, kid.”  
The panel slid closed again. 

Harrius’ stomach growled in misery. Before the guard could move away, he quickly knocked on the inside of the door again.

The panel slid open a second time. “WHAT?”

“Um, sorry,” Harrius said. “How long do I have to wait?”

“Breakfast’s at six thirty,” the guard snapped. “Now, be quiet, and no more questions!”

The panel closed, and Harrius sighed. An hour and half wasn’t too bad, be supposed. 

He went and flopped back down on the bed, and stared at the darkened ceiling, trying to distract himself. He thought over the events of the previous day, and how rapidly his normal life had turned into something nightmarish. He still couldn’t quite believe that he was a witch – or a psyker, as Augustus had called it – even though he understood that what he’d done with the boat and the sea monster wasn’t at all normal.  
He was almost tempted to try and reach for the warp again, right here in the cell, just to see if he could – but Augustus had said that was extremely dangerous, and he trusted Augustus’ judgement.

Thinking of Augustus reminded him that he would probably never see the man again, which brought on another wave of misery. He also realised he would probably never see his family again either. This felt particularly strange, as unlike Augustus, he hadn’t even said goodbye to them. Yesterday morning he’d waved to Aunt Petunia on the docks, but he hadn’t realised it would be for the last time. And after the trial in their kitchen, Uncle Vernon had just disappeared without saying a word.

Harrius wasn’t sure how to feel about all this. On the one hand, Uncle Vernon had been the one who turned him in as a witch, which stung a bit, and he wouldn’t miss doing chores for Aunt Petunia on a Monday morning, while Dudleus sat and watched and chewed his food with an open mouth. But on the other hand, Harrius had still lived with the Dursleys for most of his life, and even if not all his memories of them were good, they weren’t all bad either. It was going to be very strange without them.

Time passed slowly, and Harrius wallowed in melancholy and hunger, until the ceiling light in his cell turned on suddenly and nearly seared away his eyeballs. 

Once he’d finished blinking, he sat up and looked around his cell properly for the first time. It wasn’t a big room, but compared to his old cupboard, it was actually quite luxurious. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of sandy white stone blocks, although there was a grey carpet covering most of the floor. In the room was a bed, a writing desk, a stool, and a small shelf with books on it. At the back there was a second, very tiny room, which contained a sink and a toilet. 

Harrius got off of his bed again, and poked at the books on the shelf. Disappointingly however, they all turned out to be dense religious or historical texts, which he didn’t feel particularly interested in trying to read. He also opened all the drawers in the writing desk, but they were empty. 

It wasn’t much longer after that when Harrius heard voices outside his door, and the panel slid open. 

“We’re coming in,” the same guard from earlier said. “Go and sit on your bed, and don’t move a muscle until we say you can. And no warpy bullshit either, or we will shoot you on the spot. Understand?”

“Y-yes,” Harrius said.

“Well, go on, then!”

Harrius ran back to his bed and sat down, knees pulled up to his chest. The eyes watched him through the panel, and when apparently satisfied that he was doing what he was told, vanished from view. The panel closed, and then there was the sound of a key in the lock.

The door opened and two guards came through, as well as a third person, an unfamiliar woman in ornate robes and an armoured breastplate patterned with fleurs-de-lis. Harrius eyed her curiously, before noticing she was carrying a tray with food on it – a bowl of stew and a couple of carbo-slabs. His eyes followed the food as it went across the room and landed on the writing desk. 

“So,” the fancy woman said, stepping closer and drawing Harrius’ reluctant attention. “You’re the brat who’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist. Well, well, well. You don’t look like so much.”

Harrius wasn’t sure if he was supposed to reply or not, so he didn’t. The woman looked around the room critically, and then back at Harrius, pinning him with her stare.

“Why are you not wearing the clothes we provided?” she asked.

Harrius blinked. “Wha-?”

Making an impatient noise, the woman reached down and plucked a small folded pile of white cloth from where it had fallen from the foot of the bed. “Here,” she said. “Put it on now!”

Harrius hurriedly did so, his fear of this woman overpowering his discomfort of changing in front of strangers. The cloth turned out to be a simple set of white robes, smelling faintly of Alkaleen. His old clothes meanwhile were collected by one of the guards, and unceremoniously bundled into a sack. Harrius eyed the sack sadly – there went another part of his old life.

“Good,” the fancy woman said, once he was done. “So, now you may eat! Go on – you’re hungry, are you not? Quickly now! I’ve something to show you, and I haven’t got all day.”

Harrius jumped from the bed and scuttled to the desk. The stew was hot and smelt amazing, and he snatched up the spoon which was lying next to it and began to shovel it into his mouth. He felt a little strange, eating while everyone stood and watched him, but he really was very hungry.

“You are undoubtedly upset and confused, about what is happening to you, and why,” the woman said as he ate. “This is understandable. You have been removed from your family and friends, and you will never see them again. You are about to be sent away from your home planet, forever. It may seem to you like this treatment is unfair, and that you don’t deserve it. Perhaps you’ll even feel resentful towards those of us who have been involved in taking you away from all you knew before. But that is because you do not realise what you are. You do not realise the danger you pose, to yourself and your entire community, just by existing.”

Harrius listened wordlessly, staring intently into his bowl. 

“Humanity should never have exposed itself to the corruption of the warp,” the woman continued. “The warp is a realm of insanity and destruction and Chaos, and it can only ever lead to more of the same. There is only one way to remain a pure and untainted servant of the God-Emperor – and that is to NEVER allow the warp’s fiendish tendrils to contaminate one’s soul. However, for a creature such as yourself, this is impossible. It is in your vile nature to meddle in that which you don’t understand, and thus bring about havoc and ruin upon the innocent and the faithful.”

The woman leaned in closer, and Harrius hunched further into his chair. 

"In short,” the woman said softly, just centimetres from Harrius’ ear, “your very existence is a blight upon the Imperium. You are extremely lucky that we have chosen to let you live, risking our own necks to do so. In return, we expect that you will behave, and will not bring the warp into this Holy House. It is as I always say – the second best pysker is that which does not indulge in their unnatural ability. The best kind, of course, is that which is dead.”

She finally moved back, and Harrius scraped the last of the stew around the bottom of the bowl, his appetite suddenly gone. He wasn’t sure how often they would bring food though, so he forced himself to eat the rest, and then placed the spoon neatly beside the empty bowl.

“Done,” he whispered. 

“Good!” the woman said. “Now, stand up – as I mentioned, I have something to show you. It is evidence of the warp’s inherent evil. Follow me, closely now, and don’t stray or you will be shot. Linus, the door!”

One of the guards scrambled to obey, and the woman stalked down the corridor outside, without even glancing to see if Harrius was following. He was, following as close as he could without treading on the back of her robes. The two guards brought up the rear.

The fancy woman led the way, past rows of steel doors similar to Harrius’, and around several identical corners, and up two flights of stone stairs. Eventually, they came to a wider corridor, and arrived at something which looked like a storeroom. Harrius wondered if they were still inside the House of Celuya – he had had no idea that it extended so far underground.

“In here,” the woman said, gesturing that Harrius should walk in front. He ducked through the doorway which she had indicated, and then stopped, unsure at what he was looking at.

The storeroom was mostly empty, aside from a bulky object at its centre – a large, ugly mess of crushed metal and fibreglass, covered in crusty red streaks. Harrius frowned, wondering what it had been, and how it had got to look like this.  
A moment later he realised it was a boat – or half of a boat, to be precise. And then he finally realised what he was looking at, and a chill ran down his spine.

“Here we are,” the woman said behind him. “Your handiwork. The owner requested we take it off his hands, since he obviously couldn’t use it anymore. I believe he also asked your uncle to pay for a new one.”

“Oh,” Harrius said weakly. 

“We’re going to destroy it, of course,” the woman continued. “But I thought it might be educational for you to see it first. Take a good look, witchling! You made this. See the red streaks which cover it? That’s blood. It continued to ooze out of the metal for several hours after we brought it here.”

“Ooze..?” Harrius whispered.

“Yes, ooze. When you look into the warp, the warp looks into you, and all that it looks upon is corrupted! Thus, when you delved into the warp to create this grotesque thing, it responded by draping your creation in blood.”

Harrius gulped. At least he knew why he’d woken up covered in blood now, although it wasn’t a comforting answer. “W-why blood?” he squeaked. “Where did it come from?”

“Ah, the warp is soaked in blood, and sometimes it must leak out!” the woman said. “It is full to the brim of all kinds of evil! This, boy, is why humanity must shun it wherever possible! It is why you, while humanity yet remains within you, must learn to shun it also! Do not be tempted by its lure of power! Do not let it rule you, even when it may promise the world! Do you understand, boy? Do you understand that you are not only cursed, but a curse upon us all?”

“Y-yes,” Harrius said, and he meant it. He’d done this, created this monstrosity, and that was a terrible thing. If this was what he was capable of, then it was no wonder they wanted him gone as far away as possible. 

He didn’t want to look at the blood-streaked boat anymore, and stared at the ground instead, as the fancy woman continued to preach on the evils of the warp and how they were personally Harrius’ fault. It was around then that he also started to feel weird and fuzzy.

He tried to ignore it, but it only got rapidly worse. The floor began to spin, and his limbs felt numb, and his head began floating. He staggered, trying to stay upright, and then a moment later realised he was already lying on the ground.

“Ah,” he heard the fancy woman say from very far away. “It seems the drugs are working, then. You two, take him back to his room.”

And then the spinning void rose up to claim him, and he fell into it, and remembered nothing further.


	7. The Other Boy

Time passed under the House of Celuya, but Harrius was barely aware of it. Six out of seven days were spent in a dreamless, drug-induced coma, mechanical needles skewering his body, pumping through fluids which kept him both alive, and asleep. 

Once per week, on Sundays, he was allowed to wake up, to “prevent his brain from rotting away”. On these days he felt extremely weak and ill, and could only move very slowly around his cell, listening to the sermon from the cathedral above, which was voxcasted directly into his room.

The passage of time became meaningless to him, as his existence became a surreal blur of perpetual Sundays. The light and temperature in his room was always the same, and with no windows to observe external differences like weather, it was impossible to distinguish one Sunday from the next. His hair grew longer and shaggier, and he lost weight at an alarming pace, his ribs sticking out more noticeably each time he checked.

Aside from the voxcasts, there was little entertainment for him in his room. He attempted to read the books in the shelf, but even the ones which weren’t written in High Gothic were extraordinarily dense and boring. He spent hours just watching his guards through the keyhole, and listening to their conversations.

Mostly they griped about work or their home lives, or gossiped about people Harrius didn’t know. But there was one occasion when their conversation was a lot more interesting.

“Have you been scheduled on guard duty for the other kid yet?” it began.

Harrius, who had been listlessly staring into space, pricked up his ears. There was another kid down here?

“No, not yet,” the second guard responded. “Have you?”

“Yeah, yesterday. Nothing interesting happened, he’s been put into a coma like this one – but I heard he was a real piece of work when they brought him in.”

“Oh really? What did he do?”

“Kept screaming and throwing a right fit. Tried to bite Sister Brenea, I heard.”

“Emperor, I wish I’d been there to see that! I’m surprised she didn’t decapitate the kid on the spot.”

They both laughed, and then went on to gossip about Sister Brenea, but Harrius was no longer listening. If he was interpreting what they had said correctly, then there was another psyker kid down here. He wasn’t the only one! The other boy was probably just a few corridors away.

The thought that he wasn’t entirely alone was comforting to Harrius. He spent several hours wondering who the other kid was, and whether he knew him, and whether they would be sent to Terra together.

After that, he spent even more of his Sundays listening at the keyhole, in case the guards mentioned the other boy again. But they never did.

And then the Blackship finally arrived. 

Harrius had very little warning that his stay in Ministorum purgatory was about to end. As he came to consciousness, he realised that something was different, but it took him several minutes to figure out what it was. It was the silence – the usual voxcast wasn’t playing.

As he slowly made his way to a sitting position, he heard noises from outside his door – and then to his surprise, the door was unlocked and opened. A guard came in and placed a food tray on his desk, while another stood in the doorway and watched him. 

“Eat up,” the food tray guard said in Harrius’ direction. “You’ve got guests. This is your last meal on Halos!”

They left again, and Harrius slowly processed what they’d said. Last meal on Halos? Did that mean this awful string of Sundays was over? Was he finally going to Terra?

The fog starting to lift from his brain, and he got out of bed and went to eat. It was the usual grey stew with carbo slabs on the side, but he took his time to savour it. Who knew what sort of food he’d be eating from now on? A kid at work had told him once that on Terra, they ate all their food with layer of gold on it – which sounded pretty unpleasant to Harrius. 

He’d almost finished his meal, when the door opened for a second time – and an entire group of people crowded into his room. There were four guards, and the scary woman in the fleur-de-lis breastplate, and two people who Harrius didn’t recognise. 

“Stand to attention!” the scary woman snapped. Harrius, who had been frozen on his stool with his spoon still in hand, hurriedly jumped to his feet and banged the spoon into his own forehead. A wave of dizziness accompanied his sudden movement, but he tried to ignore it.

“Very good,” the woman said. “This is Potter,” she said to the two strangers. “Eleven Imperial standard years old. Suspected telekine.”

“Excellent,” one of the strangers said. He was a hunched man, with pale shoulder-length hair and a mechanical eye. He was wearing a long black and red coat, a refreshing change from the cream-and-gold clothing which was all Harrius had seen in two months of Sundays.

The other stranger was a thin, tired-looking man, his bald head set with a series of what looked like metal bolts. He was wearing a green robe, and carrying a long staff with a stylised metal eye at the top. Harrius felt vaguely apprehensive of this second man, although he couldn’t quite put a finger on why.

He also noticed that both of the men wore an infamous symbol on their breast pocket – a capital I, emblazoned in red, with three horizontal bars across it. Harrius didn’t know much about the galaxy, but even he recognised the mark of the Inquisition when he saw it. He gulped, and stood as straight as he could.

“How do you do Mr Potter?” the hunched man said, baring his teeth in what might have been a grin. “I’m Alastor Moody – that’s Inquisitorial Agent Moody, to you. This ‘ere is Agent Riquel, representative from the Astra Telepathica. Riquel, anything to add?”

Riquel shook his head slightly. 

“Excellent,” Agent Moody said. “Alright then, Mr Potter, pack your things! And put these on when you’re done. You’re coming with us!”

“I, uh, don’t have any things,” Harrius mumbled, taking the bulky handcuffs which Agent Moody had handed him. 

“Even better!” Moody said. “Off we go, then! Riquel, if you would bring ‘im to the lander? Don’t worry kid, Riquel doesn’t bite. Much! Har har!”

He winked at Harrius, and then turned on his heel and left the room. Harrius stared after him, feeling a little dazed. Then he turned his attention back to the other agent, Riquel.   
The bald man was still watching him, with a strange intensity that made Harrius uncomfortable. It felt like the man was looking at him with more than just his eyes, and could see more than just his skin and clothes. In fact, Harrius had the distinct impression that the bald man could see into his mind and read his thoughts as clear as the words on a page. 

Stop that, please, he thought deliberately. 

The man’s eyes widened slightly, and his mouth twitched. Harrius felt a chill go down his spine.

“Well, are we going to stand about all day?” the scary woman snapped. “Or are we getting a move on?”

Riquel finally dropped his gaze from Harrius, and nodded. “We shall be leaving now,” he said calmly. “Harrius? Those cuffs are supposed to worn, not carried.”

Harrius snapped the bulky cuffs closed, and then stared down in surprise when they made a whirring noise, and tiny lights blinked on. At the same moment, a feeling that something was terribly wrong came over him, and nausea rose in his stomach. He groaned, and staggered slightly as dizziness returned with a vengeance.

“Give it a moment, you will become accustomed to the feeling,” he heard Riquel say from the distance. “Take a few deep breaths. That’s right. In and out. Good. Now, let us go.”

Still blinking stars from his vision, Harrius followed Riquel’s green robes out of the room. The nausea thankfully had become bearable, but he still felt like something was wrong with the world, like one of the colours he was used to seeing had suddenly vanished. 

Riquel was a quick walker, and Harrius almost had to run to keep up, as the man made his way down corridors and up stairs, until they abruptly came out into daylight.

Harrius stopped in his tracks as the sunlight hit his face, and almost tripped up the scary woman, who had been walking behind him. She made an angry noise, and shoved him from behind, pushing him out into the bright courtyard.

Harrius stood and blinked up at the sky, water streaming from his eyes, cold wind ruffling his hair, and he realised how much he’d missed this – and how much he was going to miss it. It was a nice day, with puffy white clouds, and a gentle salty breeze from the Bay of Lament, and Harrius breathed deep, suddenly acutely aware that he was about to leave this place forever. It was a terrifying thought. Within the hour, he would be launched into space, and away from anything remotely familiar. Perhaps he would never see clouds, or smell the sea breeze, ever again.

Someone put a hand on his back and steered him across the yard, and Harrius’ cloud watching was interrupted by a dark, angular shape blocking his view. Coming back to the present, he forced himself to focus on what was in front of him – and then his eyes widened. 

Sitting before him in the courtyard was some sort of space-capable craft, although it looked a lot nicer than any Harrius had seen before. It was relatively small, but fancy, in grey and red paint, and with triangular wings which were patterned to resemble the wings of an aquilla.

The middle of the ship was currently extended to the ground, and a doorway stood open. Riquel directed Harrius towards this, and gestured that he climb in.

Harrius did so, and was stunned when he saw how luxurious the interior of the craft was. It was well lit, with plush fold-down seats along the walls, and gilt patterns engraved into walls and ceiling. Harrius felt that the seats were almost too nice to sit on, and hesitated for a solid thirty seconds, before Riquel commanded him to sit. 

Harrius had also expected the craft to be empty of other people, but it wasn’t. There were two people inside already – an adult, a muscular woman with short spiky hair and a coat similar to Agent Moody’s, and a kid, with white-blonde hair, apparently unconscious and with enough rope around him to trap a whole school of fish. 

Harrius did a double take as he realised that the kid on the floor was probably the other pysker child who had been locked up in the House of Celuya. 

Then he did a triple take as he realised it was Draco, the fishmarket bully.

Harrius openly stared at merchant kid, unable to believe it. Draco was here? Draco was a psyker, like him? What were the chances!

He was very glad that Draco was unconscious though, or he was sure the boy would have attacked him on the spot. Harrius could see that some of the skin on his face was blotchy and reddish, healed over but discoloured, and he was pretty sure that was from the Alkaleen incident.

The short haired woman didn’t say anything or acknowledge Harrius’ existence, and so Harrius just sat where he was and stared at Draco, while Riquel and Moody talked in the doorway.

“That’s it from Privet Isla, I believe,” Moody was saying. “Check there isn’t any rampant heresy – tick. Collect any psychic brats they have stored away for us – tick. Done and done. You double checked that, um, “cursed witch house”, did you not?”

“It was nothing but a pile of overgrown rubble,” Riquel said. “Nothing there.”

“Excellent,” Moody said. ‘In that case, our job here is done. I shall inform the Emperor-heads that we’re leaving, and then let us be off!”

Riquel came back, and turned his gaze on Harrius again, who hurriedly pretended he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Thankfully though, he didn’t feel the man reading his mind again, and all Riquel said was “please put on your seatbelt.”

Shortly, Moody appeared as well, stomping on board and grinning widely. “Alright, we’re done ‘ere!” he said, jabbing at a bead in his ear. “Pilot? Take us away! You ready, kid? Say goodbye to your salty dump of a homeworld! Har har!”

Speakers crackled as the pilot confirmed take-off, and then the mid-section of the lander jolted and moved upwards, settling into flight position. There was a pause, and then the lander’s engines came online with a roar, and the craft began moving. Soon, Harrius felt his stomach drop away, and he was crushed into his seat as the lander powered upwards.   
He wished that the craft had windows, so he could see his home one last time as he left it behind for good. But instead he could only stare at the wall, or the floor, or his own hands in cuffs, as the craft rose higher and higher, leaving the atmosphere behind and sailing off into the quiet of space.


	8. The Fortitude Test

After several hours of travel, the lander finally slowed to a hover, and touched down with a gentle bump.  
Harrius, who had been drifting off to sleep in the warm, quietly humming room, jolted wide awake. They’d arrived. Where exactly they’d arrived, he wasn’t entirely sure – he’d heard the word “Blackship” mentioned several times, but he didn’t have a solid idea of what that really was. All he knew was that for the first time ever, he was about to set foot on a surface which wasn’t Privet Isla. 

The engine of the lander cut off, leaving a ringing silence – which was almost immediately broken by Agent Moody grumbling that his arse was sore from sitting still so long. The middle of the ship descended to the ground with a series of clanks, and all three Inquisitorial Agents unbuckled themselves and got up from their seats. Moody stretched loudly and cracked his back, while Riquel stood and watched with a blank expression. Meanwhile the third Agent, the woman with short hair, hoisted up the still unconscious Draco and threw him over her shoulder like a sack of crusker fibre.

Harrius wasn’t sure if he should also unbuckle himself – but fortunately Riquel remembered he was there a moment later, and turned to look at him. “Stand up,” he said flatly. “Follow me, and stay close by. Don’t run off, unless you would like to die very suddenly and violently.”

Eyes wide, Harrius nodded and quickly stood up.

With a hiss of decompressing air, Moody opened the door and stepped outside. The woman with Draco went next, and then Riquel, with Harrius at his heels. But just outside the door, Harrius stopped in his tracks, and his mouth fell open.

They had stepped out into the largest room which Harrius had ever seen in his life. It would easily hold the entire House of Celuya, at least three or four times over. Every surface was man-made, from the matte white floor to the vast, pipe-dense ceiling, peppered with glaring white lights and huge, slowly turning fans. What looked like an entire fleet of landers, of the same type Harrius had arrived in, stood in rows upon rows of individual bays. One craft took off vertically with a roar of its engines, and soared through the centre of the room, vanishing into a vast archway in the wall, through which the blue-white glimmer of a void shield could be seen.

In the other direction, a vast aquilla spread its wings across a gargantuan wall, criss-crossed with catwalks and pockmarked with gun-turret stations. People in blue or orange jumpsuits ran to and fro in every direction, carrying boxes of tools or tech or escorting higher ranking staff to their destinations. Servitors, more than Harrius had ever seen in one place, trudged slowly about their work, moving heavy machinery, or dragging huge, coiling fuel pipes from one craft to the next. 

Harrius barely noticed as Riquel grabbed his arm and pulled him across the floor, too in awe of the sheer scale and activity around him. He only came back to the present once they left the hangar, entering through an archway into a much smaller, regular-sized corridor.

There, they were approached by a group of people in black and white military-style uniforms. The leader of the group, a severe looking woman, and the only one not wearing a helmet, saluted Agent Moody. He and the other agents returned the gesture.

“Sir,” the woman said. “I trust your mission went successfully?”  
“If by successfully, you mean about as thrilling as an Administratum tax-law convention, then yes,” Moody said. “Absolutely nothing to report, except an eyeful of mud, and an arse-full of salt. We collected two brats, though.”

“Yes, I can see that,” the woman said. “Will you be taking them straight through Fortitudes?”

“Yep,” Moody said. “Riquel can conduct the tests, can’t you Riquel?”

“If you wish,” Riquel said. 

“I do wish, my man. Right – anything else, Sergeant, or will that be all?”

“That will be all, Agent.” The woman saluted again, and she and the rest of the uniforms retreated to let them through.

“Excellent,” Moody said. “Riquel, take your kid up to the 400 series testing rooms – there’s usually at least one of those free. Deora, take the other kid to temporary holding, until he wakes up. Vox me when he does. I’ll go and file the mission report in the meantime.”

Riquel dipped his head in acknowledgement, while the woman carrying Draco said “on it.” All three of them then peeled off in different directions. 

Harrius ran after Riquel, and almost crashed into him when he stopped to press a button in the wall. Harrius, who had never seen an elevator before, watched in amazement as a metal panel slid smoothly open, revealing a large metal box. Then, once inside, he crouched in terror when the box jolted suddenly upwards.

Eventually he realised that the box was meant to do that and, a little embarrassed, he stood up and eyed Riquel. The bald agent was standing perfectly still in the middle of the box, one hand behind his back, the other on his staff. 

Aside from faint, tinny music, it was very quiet in the elevator, and as the ascent stretched on for longer than a minute, Harrius began to fidget. There was a question which had been burning in his mind ever since he’d thought of it, and he wondered whether now was a good time to ask. 

“Um,” he said into the quiet, gathering his courage. “Mr Riquel, sir?”

The man angled his head slightly to indicate he was listening. 

“Are you, um,” Harrius said. “Are you a ps-psyker?”

“Yes,” Riquel said. 

“Oh,” Harrius breathed. “I’ve…I’ve not met one…apart from…me, I guess.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Riquel said dryly. “You’re going to meet a whole lot of them, soon enough.”

“Oh,” Harrius said again. He wasn’t sure whether to be excited or terrified by the prospect.

The elevator continued slowly upwards, and the tinny music swelled, the song ending. The exact same song then started again from the beginning. 

“Um,” Harrius said. “Mr Riquel? Can you read minds?”

“Yes,” Riquel said. “I am telepathic.”

“You read my mind, didn’t you?” Harrius continued. “Back in my prison room under the cathedral?”

Riquel turned to look at Harrius properly. “I admit I did,” he said. “I was…impressed, that you could tell. Most people don’t notice, even other psykers. Especially if they are untrained like yourself.”

“Well, maybe I can read minds too?” Harrius said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“You are a different type of psyker than I,” Riquel said. “A telekine, if I am remembering your file correctly.”

“What does that mean? What’s a telekine?”

“It means you lift objects and float them about.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “That makes sense, I guess.”

The elevator finally slowed and came to a stop, and the metal panel opened. Riquel quickly stepped out and turned to the left, down a long, grey corridor, with rows of metal doors on either side. The corridor was as wide as Market Road, and so long that each end receded into the horizon. Harrius briefly wondered just how big the ship they were on really was – but he still had more questions for Riquel about psykers.

“Are there lots of psykers in the galaxy?”

“There are billions.”

“Cool! Are there a lot of telekines?”

“Yes. It is the second most common type.”

“What’s the most common type?”

“Telepath.”

“Like you, right? So there are all these people out there, just looking into other people’s thoughts, huh? Can you just read minds whenever you want?”

“Yes. Although it is dangerous to use psychic powers too often.”

“Do you ever find out people’s deep dark secrets?”

“Yes. You could say that is my job, when I’m not on babysitting duty.”

“Are you reading my mind right now?”

“No. Although I know exactly what you are thinking. Because you are saying all of it.”

“When did you figure out you could do that? Like, how old?”

“A similar age to yourself.”

“Did you go to psyker school? Is that where they put those bolts in your head?”

“Yes I went to “psyker school”, and no, that is not where the “bolts” are from. Throne, you ask a lot of questions!”

“Sorry,” Harrius said. 

He fell silent as Riquel jabbed at a dataslate which was attached to one of the doors. “This room will do,” he said. “No more questions, now! It is time to undergo the Fortitude Test.”

Harrius oped his mouth to ask what the Fortitude Test was, but managed to stop himself at the last second.

The room they entered was white and clinical, with a single table at the centre, and two chairs. There was a box on the table, as well as a bulky machine of unknown use. The only other notable features in the room were a water-cooling machine in the corner, and a security camera on the ceiling. 

Riquel poured himself a cup of water, and then gestured to Harrius that he should sit. He then sat in the other chair, and faced Harrius, sipping his water. He didn’t offer Harrius any. 

“Alright,” he said momentarily, and he took out a small dataslate from somewhere in his robes. “Let’s get this over with.” He opened a document on the screen and began reading aloud.

“This is your official Fortitude Test,” he said. “It is a test to determine your potential and utility as a Sanctioned Psyker. The test takes into account latent power ranking, as well as willpower of the subject. The former is inferred through the subject’s history, and is only an estimation. The latter will be tested here and now. The test shall be led and results recorded by insert name here…oh, that’s me…”

He paused, and typed something into the slate.

“The subject is asked to complete any three tests from the below selection,” he continued. “Each test is designed to demonstrate the patience, self-discipline and willpower of the subject. Strength of will is a great virtue and is vital to the success of, yada yada, etcetera etcetera. Does the subject have any questions?”

“Don’t actually ask any,” he interrupted, as Harrius opened his mouth. “Just say no. Please?”

“Um. No?” Harrius said. 

“Good. Then we can start.”

Harrius still had no idea what he was supposed to do, but he didn’t say anything as Riquel removed his handcuffs. He’d forgotten that the cuffs were doing something other than restrain his hands, and as they came off, he was momentarily overwhelmed with a bizarre feeling of oversaturation. 

Once he’d adjusted somewhat, he found that Riquel had gone through the small box on the table, and placed an object in front of him. It was a tall glass jug, full of water, with a combination lock literally glued to the base inside.

“Umm,” Harrius said, looking at it.

“There is a padlock at the bottom of this jug,” Riquel said flatly. “The combination which open it is on this list.” He showed Harrius a long list of four-number combinations on his dataslate. “Your task is to find the correct combination, and unlock the lock. You are not allowed to use psychic powers.”

“Um, OK,” Harrius said. “So I just…reach in and try these numbers?”

“Yes.”

Harrius blinked at the list of combinations, and then reached into the jug. The water inside was startlingly cold, and he gasped, and retracted his arm.

“Does the water have to be in there?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“That’s just what the test is.”

Gritting his teeth, Harrius reached into the jug again, and twisted the tiny dials on the combination lock until they matched the first four numbers on Riquel’s slate. The dials were very small, and with his fingers rapidly numbing, they were difficult to turn. Harrius immediately realised that this task was going to be both incredibly tedious and extremely uncomfortable.

The first combination didn’t open the lock, so he tried the next, and the next, and the one after that. Then he lost feeling in his pinkie finger, and removed his arm from the water to blow on it.

“This test is stupid,” he proclaimed, rubbing feeling back into his hand. “The lock isn’t even locking anything! How many combinations are there anyway?”

“One hundred,” Riquel said. 

Harrius stared at him in dismay. “What? Really???”

“Yes.”

“Emperor preserve me,” Harrius muttered, and he reluctantly dipped his hand back into the water.

He tried five more combinations, and then rested his arm, and then tried with his other arm. Gradually, the heat leeching out of his arms made the water less bitingly cold, although it still made turning the dials difficult. He soon lost track of how many combinations he’d put in, but he got into a rhythm – five combinations, rest, swap arm, five more.  
Then, about two thirds down the list of numbers, one of the combinations worked, and the lock popped suddenly open.

“Oh,” Harrius said, and grinned at Riquel. “I did it!”

“Congratulations,” Riquel said. 

He removed the jug, and replaced it with a spool of thread, scissors, and a packet of tiny silver needles. The thread was low quality, coarse and thick, with fibres sticking out on every which angle.

“For your next task,” he said, “you are to thread as many needles as you can. There is a time limit of five minutes on this task. Again, no psychic powers are permitted. Your time starts now.”

He began a countdown on the dataslate, and Harrius stared at it wildly, before snatching up a needle. He snipped a piece of thread off the spool, and then tried to jam it through the tiny eye.

His effort was entirely unsuccessful. The thread was just too thick and bristly. Harrius licked the end to try and flatten it, but it barely helped. He tried several of the needles, but they were all as tiny as each other. 

Glancing at the countdown, he was shocked to see that nearly half of his time had already passed. Dammit! Was this test designed to be impossible? Desperately he tried to jam the threat through again, but it refused to behave. 

Frustratedly, he pulled some of the wilder fibres out of the thread, in an effort to make it smoother. Then, he paused – and looked at the fibres he’d removed. 

Riquel had just said to thread the needles, right? He hadn’t specified what to thread them with, had he? 

He grabbed the longest fibre, licked it, and carefully introduced the end into the eye of the needle. It went through on the second try, and Harrius almost yelled in victory. Time was running out through, so he hurriedly tore the rest of the thread into its individual strands and began threading needles like his life depended on it. 

When the countdown reached zero, he had just finished with his ninth one. Proudly, he showed the needles to Riquel. Riquel raised an eyebrow at the mangled strands.

“I threaded them,” Harrius said defensively. 

“Yes, so you did,” Riquel said. “An…imaginative solution. But it is technically correct…”

His brow furrowed slightly, and he stared blankly at the nine needles for a long, silent moment. The moment stretched on, and Harrius fidgeted, wondering if Riquel had gone to sleep with his eyes open. He was just about to wave a hand in front of the man’s face, when Riquel shook his head slightly and reached into his robes, pulling out a book.

“Alright, here’s the last test,” he said, placing the book on the table. “Can you read?”

“Yes,” Harrius said. 

“You can? Good. Read the title of this book.”

Harrius looked down at it. It was a nice-looking book, leather bound and embossed with gold. “The Collected Case Records and Scientific Observations of the Inquisitor Nicholas Flamel of the Ordos Xenos,” he read.

“Very good. Now, open to a random page, and read what’s there.”

“Out loud?” Harrius asked. 

“If you want, but it isn’t necessary.”

Harrius opened the book to the middle. The page he chose was half taken up by a sketch of, well, something. It was some sort of strange, techno-monolithic structure, probably of xenos origin. It was labelled “Flamel’s Pylon.”

Harrius frowned at it curiously, wondering what it was, before Riquel cleared his throat. “We’re not here to look at the pictures, kid,” he said. “Read, please. Start at the top and continue to the bottom of the page.”

Harrius turned his attention to the neighbouring page, and began to do so. He progressed slowly, as the author of the book was apparently very fond of using unnecessarily long words, some of which he’d never come across before.

He had just made it through the first paragraph, when he suddenly felt a wave of discomfort, like someone was gently caressing his brain with tiny, ice-cold fishing hooks, leaving trails of headache in their path. It was a feeling he recognised, and he sat up and stared at Riquel. 

“Are you reading my mind again?” 

“Ignore it,” Riquel said.

“But…it’s distracting me.”

“Yes. That’s the point,” Riquel said. “That’s what this test is. Ignore it.”

Harrius found his spot on the page again, and tried to forge on, but it was difficult. He read the same sentence five times, but its meaning just wouldn’t sink in. He shook his head, and covered his ears, but it did nothing to stop the brain hooks, which he could feel worming their way in deeper. Annoyed, Harrius concentrated on one of the hooks, and tried to force it away. It pulsed painfully in response. 

“Ow!” he exclaimed, looking at Riquel again.

“What are you complaining about?” Riquel said, staring at Harrius without blinking. “There is nothing happening. Read the page.”

Harrius eyed him mistrustfully, and then gathering his resolve, he found his spot again. This time, he started reading out loud, emphatically thinking each word as he said it. He stumbled often over the long words, but he was making progress again.

As he yelled into his own brain, he felt the brain hooks retreat slightly, before intensifying. This time, Harrius could hear them – words, in Riquel’s voice, directly transmitted into his brain. They were different words from what Harrius was reading, the lyrics of a song or poem by the sounds of it, and it totally derailed his concentration again. Harrius tried to read what was in front of him, but instead he found himself saying the same words Riquel was transmitting. It wasn’t even a song a he knew. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head violently. “No no no! I’m trying to read, dammit!” Clutching at his head, he took a breath, and then began yelling each word on the page. Riquel’s words in his brain got louder as well, painfully loud, but Harrius could barely hear them over the noise of his own screaming. 

His throat began to hurt, and his head was aching, and he wasn’t really taking in the words on the page, but he was saying them anyway. And then he hit end of the page – and Riquel’s voice instantly shut off.

In the ringing silence which followed, Harrius shakily closed the book. He was breathing in gasps, and his body was trembling. A wave of exhaustion rolled across him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the silent static of his own brain, intruder free. He hadn’t realised how much effort he had been expending just to keep on reading. 

Then he opened his eyes and stared defiantly at Riquel. To his surprise, he noticed that the man was also breathing harder than usual, like he’d just jogged up a flight of stairs. 

“Well,” Riquel said wryly. “I suspected it already from your file, but now I have no doubt that you are an abnormally strong child. There are many psykers older and more experienced than you who wouldn’t have withstood that. Congratulations.”

“Does,” Harrius breathed, “does that mean I passed the test?”

“Oh, yes,” Riquel said. 

He tapped something into his dataslate, and the mysterious machine which had sat silently on the table this whole time came to life with a series of beeps and whirrs. It continued making noises for about a minute, before there was a final whir, and a small strip of parchment fell out the bottom. Riquel picked it up and handed it to Harrius. It said:

#7708625508736  
Potter, Harrius  
Righteous Herald  
ζ TK (+?)  
Scholastica Psykana

“What does this-” Harrius started to ask.

“Try not to lose that in the next five minutes,” Riquel interrupted him, standing up from his chair and drifting towards the door. “It’s very important. Now, if you’ll excuse me – the test is over, and I have another entire test to do. Don’t wonder off – the Null brigade will pick you up in a minute. And don’t bother asking them questions, because they usually don’t talk. Goodbye.”

And then he closed the door and left. 

“Umm,” Harrius said into the silence. 

He examined his piece of parchment again, but the only line he really recognised was his own name. 

Oh well – he’d passed the test, whatever that meant, so he supposed things weren’t going too badly. He stowed the parchment in a pocket, got himself some water, and then sat down and waited for whichever eccentric adult appeared to collect him next.


	9. Blackship Hospitality

He didn’t have to wait for long, before the door opened again and two women appeared.   
They were wearing black uniforms with gold edging, and half-masks which obscured their mouths but not their eyes. They were both bald, with a crown of wires, pulsing lights and metal plating attached directly into their skulls instead of hair. 

Harrius immediately disliked them, although he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t that they looked especially frightening, or acted particularly hostile towards him – in fact, as far as he could tell, their expressions were calm and neutral. It was just a sort of aura they gave off, deeply unsettling and nauseating. It reminded him of the handcuffs he’d been wearing earlier.

The shorter of the two women crooked a finger at Harrius, and reluctantly he stood and moved towards her. The nausea only intensified as he approached – but fortunately the women backed away to let him out of the door.

Outside, he was surprised to see a gaggle of other kids standing silently in the corridor, as well as two more of the black-and-gold women. The kids, who ranged in age from slightly older than Harrius to a lot younger, all looked about as green as he felt. They all stared at him as he appeared, although their gazes held no real interest. 

One of the women drew Harrius’ attention with a wave, and showed him a strip of parchment, tapping it emphatically. Harrius realised it was similar to the one which he’d just been given.

“You want…my parchment?” he asked.

She nodded, and he held it out. She took with a gloved hand, unfolding it and rapidly scanning its contents. Harrius saw her eyebrow quirk, before she turned to the others and began rapidly hand-signing, pointing at Harrius occasionally. 

Harrius watched cluelessly, wondering what they were saying about him. Was there something wrong with his test results? Had he done something bad without realising? 

Abruptly, the conversation ended, and one of the women walked away from the group, gesturing that Harrius should follow her. Harrius glanced in confusion at the other women, and the kids, who were still standing and staring at him with glassy eyes, and then hesitantly ducked after her. She led him down the corridor and into another elevator.

Harrius wasn’t sure why he’d been singled out and, with no explanation forthcoming, he started to feel worried. He remembered that Riquel had said something about him being an “abnormally strong child”. Was that it? Was he abnormal, even for a psyker? That couldn’t be good.

The elevator slowly descended, and descended some more, and the further it went, the worse Harrius began to feel. In fact, the bad feelings rapidly got much worse than Harrius could explain, and it occurred to him that Something Fucky was happening, although he had no idea what. 

As the tinny song played all the way through, and then all the way through a second time, Harrius’ vague worry ramped up to fear, and then a state of low, consistent panic. His feeling of nausea increased tenfold, and he began groaning and gasping for air, clutching weakly at the walls of the elevator. Pain shot through his chest, and a feeling of doom settled over him. Meanwhile, the woman escorting him didn’t react at all. She just stood and watched Harrius impassively as he thrashed about the elevator and clutched at his chest or stomach. 

By the time the elevator came to a stop, Harrius was on the floor in a foetal position, gasping and violently trembling, his body and mind pulsing with a nameless terror. He felt like he was drowning, or that someone was slowly removing his internal organs, killing him piece by piece. 

The woman reached down and pulled him upright, half carrying, half dragging him out of the elevator. He vaguely registered that they had arrived in a new corridor, where several more of the black-and-gold woman greeted them, although these ones weren’t wearing the techno-crowns.   
Then, he was taken through a doorway and out onto a metal catwalk, into a vast, warehouse-like space.

The space was narrow in width, but it extended for hundreds of metres in either direction. Vault-like metal doors lined either side, each marked with a metre-high block-print number. The entire space was lit with an irregularly flashing, scintillating light. It was also very loud – the entire space was permeated with pulsing bass and an undulating, whining, treble, which vaguely resembled music, if composed by someone who had no sense of rhythm or melody and had possibly never heard real music in their life.  
The bass and the lights pulsed in time with the terror flooding Harrius’ body, amplifying it further, and it became too much to bear. His last shred of strength left him, and with a scream of anguish, he collapsed to his knees. There, he doubled over and dry retched, drool dripping from his mouth and tears streaming from his eyes. His glasses fell off, bouncing away and falling through the metal links of the catwalk, but he barely noticed.

The woman hauled him upright again, but when his legs refused to bear any weight, she picked him up entirely and hauled him over her shoulder. She then carried him to one of the vault doors, marked 975, and keyed in a passcode. 

Thankfully, the room behind the vault door was dim and much quieter, and the intense dread immediately began to subside. Shuddering in relief, Harrius lay on the cool floor where he’d been deposited, eyes closed, face in his knees. Slowly, the nausea and the pain in his chest subsided, and his breath began to return to normal, leaving only a feeling of deep exhaustion. He could feel a headache beginning to form, but it was nothing compared to the pain he’d just experienced. 

He lay there and just breathed for a while, feeling nothing but the rise and fall of his own chest. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the strobing lights, although by themselves they weren’t quite as bad.   
They were distracting, though, and they stopped him from drifting off to asleep. In fact, even when he tried to think about something else they were still there, lancing brightly through his thoughts. It was a strange experience, Harrius began to wonder if the hell-room he’d just gone through had permanently done something to his brain. 

With that thought, his curiosity began to return in general, and he realised that he didn’t know where he was. Slowly, he uncurled his legs and opened his eyes.

The colour grey greeted him – grey walls, grey floor, and a grey ceiling. He was apparently in some sort of solid metal cube, although the front side of it was made up of bars. Habitually, Harrius reached for his glasses – before remembering that he’d dropped them.

Oh well – it wasn’t like there was a lot of detail to see in this room anyway. Unlike his last prison cell, this room wasn’t pretending to be anything other than a cage. Harrius squinted at the bed shelf with a mattress on it in one corner, and the toilet and basin in the other. In between was one tiny table and a stool. That was it. They did at least look clean, and there was a blanket and a change of clothes on the mattress. 

Outside the cell was an empty passageway, its only feature being a message painted directly onto the wall, in blocky letters large enough for Harrius to read: ATTENTION!! DETAINEES ARE REMINDED THAT USE OF PSYCHIC POWERS FOR ANY REASON WILL RESULT IN INSTANT TERMINATION.

Pressing his face to the bars of his cell, Harrius could just see the corner of the vault door which he’d come in through. It was further away then he’d been expecting, but there didn’t seem to be anyone guarding it. Harrius briefly entertained the idea of somehow sawing through the bars and escaping – but then he remembered what was on the other side of the vault door, and he shuddered, and banished that idea forever. There was no way he was going to voluntarily subject himself to that torture again. 

Having seen everything, he then retreated to the back of the cell and flopped down on the mattress. It was a passable mattress, he supposed. Could have been worse. Sighing deeply, he stared up at the single dim light fixture, and tried to ignore the scintillating lights which were still bouncing around the inside of his brain. 

“Well,” he said to the ceiling. “This really sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” a voice said. 

Harrius jerked upright in shock and looked around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. Then it clicked, and he realised that there was another cell next to his – and apparently it was occupied. 

“Umm,” he said. “Hello? Who are you?”

“My name’s Ronaldius,” the voice replied. “You can call me Ron, though. What’s your name?”

“Harrius,” Harrius said cautiously.

“Cool!” Ron exclaimed. “Emperor, I cannot say how happy I am to hear your voice! Well, not your voice specifically – but someone, y’know? I was beginning to think they would leave me in here by myself forever, with only the ol’ nightmare disco for company.”

“The…nightmare disco?” Harrius said. “Do you mean…the brain lights?”

“Yes!” Ron said. “You can also see them? Awesome! It’s good to know I’m not the only one!”

“What are they?” Harrius asked. 

“Dunno what they are. Some sort of anti-psyker measure, I suppose, to stop us escaping or using our powers.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “Wait – you’re a psyker?”

“Obviously,” Ron said. “Why else would I be stuck down here in the nasty old belly of a Blackship?”

“Is that where we are?”

“Yeah, duh! Don’t you know anything?”

“Um,” Harrius said. “Not really, no. Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on most of the time.”

“Well,” Ron said. “Lucky you’ve got me then! A lot of my family are psykers, so I know everything there is to know about the whole process! The sanctioning process, that is. That’s what it’s called when they train you up, and do tests to make sure you’re not some weirdo who’s going to try and murder people with your awesome reality-bending powers. And then at the end, you become an Imperial Sanctioned Psyker, and you can do some cool shit, like blow up xenos, or work for the Inquisition.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. This was the first time he’d ever heard someone describe psychic powers as anything other than abnormal and evil, and it surprised him. He suddenly had a LOT of questions for his fellow prisoner, although he wasn’t sure where to start. Fortunately, Ron was enjoying talking, and some of the questions got answered before he even had to ask them. 

“My older brothers warned me how terrible Blackship hospitality is,” Ron was saying, “but I honestly thought they were winding me up. Turns out, it’s actually much worse than they said it was. If I’d known, I might’ve run away from home and joined an underhive gang instead – so I suppose that’s why they didn’t tell me? You know, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep the entire time I’ve been here? The disco gets into your dreams, man. It’s relatively mild right now, but it gets ten times worse when we jump to warp. Throne, the things I would do for a good night’s sleep! I don’t even know how long it’s been. What’s the date out there, Harrius? Imperial standard time.”

“Um,” Harrius said. “I don’t know. They…the Ministorum made me sleep for…well, I don’t know how long it was...”

“That sounds nice,” Ron said wistfully. 

“It wasn’t,” Harrius said.

“Well, I’m still envious,” Ron said. “I haven’t slept properly in months! Years! Millenia! All I do is sit in here and talk to myself! Argh! Emperor, did I mention how glad I am that you’re here now?”

“You did, yes.”

“Well, I’m very glad! Perhaps my descent into madness can come to a stop? Maybe we can go to Terra, and not jump around between a bunch of other planets? Speaking of which – what planet are we above right now? It’s your homeworld, right?”

“I think so,” Harrius said. “Unless we’ve moved somewhere else?”

“No – you’d know if we had, trust me,” Ron said darkly. “Warp travel sucks. But never mind that, what’s your planet called?”

“Halos,” Harrius said.

“Oooh. I haven’t heard of that planet before. What’s it like?”

“Cold, I guess,” Harrius said. “And windy. And salty. There’s a lot of ocean.”

“Cool!” Ron said. “I’ve never seen an ocean, but I’ve heard about them. I can’t imagine a stretch of water that’s THAT big! Can you really only see water, all the way to the horizon?”

“Yeah,” Harrius said, frowning. “You’ve really never seen an ocean? Is there no ocean where you’re from?”

“Nope,” Ron said. “They got rid of it. Or built over it, I suppose. The biggest body of water I ever saw was the sewers.”

“They got rid of an ocean?” Harrius could not comprehend the concept. “How..?? Wait…if there’s no ocean, when where do you get the fish from???”

“Fish?” Ron said. “What’s the fish?”

“What’s the fish???” Harrius was incredulous. “It’s…I…you don’t know about fish? What do you eat????” He tried to imagine only eating plant fibres, but the thought was almost too horrible to comprehend.

“I dunno,” Ron said. “Food? Reconstituted grox, or gallus fowl. Or vegetables, from the hydro-farms. Normal stuff.”

Harrius had no idea what any of those things were but decided there were more important questions to ask. “Where ARE you from anyway?” he said.

“Caph Prime,” Ron said cheerfully. “It’s a hiveworld.”

“Oh. What’s that like?”

“Well, you know, its busy, there’s a lot of people there,” Ron said. “Buildings and man-made structures from one horizon to the other. It’s alright, if you stay out of the acid rain, and don’t go down to the underhive. Never a dull moment. And since we’re the Subsector capital, there’s always a lot of interesting goods coming in, exotic foods and wares from other planets and the like. My family lives near a major docking port, so we see a lot of ships arriving, and we get early pick of the stuff they bring in. Some of its weird as all heck, I tell you. Xenofauna, or archeotech, or luxury goods which I don’t even know what they’re for.”

“Wow,” Harrius breathed. “Will you ever go back there?”

“Of course,” Ron said. “My family are indentured to the Baron Ingleros. You probably haven’t heard of him, but he’s a pretty big deal on Caph Prime. Anyway, my family provides ‘psychic security’ for the good Baron, and in return, he looks after us. After I’ve gotten sanctioned, I’ll go and work for him too. Well – technically, I already worked for him – but now that my psychic powers have turned up, I’ll be doing more interesting stuff!”

“What sort of stuff?”

“We protect the Baron and his assets and important guests from psychic attacks,” Ron said proudly.

“Do…do those happen often?”

“Not that often, no. But often enough that the Baron likes to have us around.”

“So, is that what most psykers do then?” Harrius asked. “After they get sanctioned, I mean. Psychic security?”

“Well, no,” Ron said. “Not most psykers. Not everyone is as rich as Baron Ingleros, and can afford to keep an entire family of psykers in his employ.”

“Why, does he pay you a lot?”

“Uh, no. Actually he doesn’t pay us. But he does pay certain people so they don’t, uh, take his psychic security away.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “So, in that case, what happens to most psykers? What do they do?”

“Depends what sort, but I think most end up in the Astra Militarum. Or if they’re telepathic, they become an Astropath. Some get recruited by the Inquisition, or by other rich people, like the good Baron, but it’s pretty rare.”

Harrius thought over this information. “My parents were in the Astra Militarum,” he said absently. 

“Oh really?” Ron said.

“Yeah. Halosian 3rd Regiment. I remember going to the funeral when I was small.”

“Oh no. What happened to them?”

“I’m not sure,” Harrius said. “There was a big funeral the day after the recruitment ship took off. And, well, they never came back, so I suppose something must have happened.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Ron said. “I’m sure they must have died honourably, fighting for the Emperor and the glory of Mankind.”

“Yeah,” Harrius shrugged. It was too distant a memory to be painful.

Ron started to say something else, but he was interrupted by a harsh crackling noise. Harrius flinched and looked up warily, but it was just the beginning of a vox announcement. 

“Attention, attention,” a scratchy voice said. “Jump to warp will occur in T minus sixty minutes. All staff please proceed expediently to warp entry stations.”

“Ughhhh,” Ron groaned. “This groxshit again.”

“Why, what’s going to happen?” Harrius asked him.

“We’re leaving your homeworld, and going somewhere new,” Ron said. “Maybe Terra, but don’t get your hopes up too high. In fact, flush your hopes down the toilet, because we’re going through the warp to get there. And they just LOVE making our warp travel experience as unpleasant as possible. Why they do it, I don’t know. All I know is pain, and the nightmare disco. Soon, you will know it too.”

“Great,” Harrius said. He was dreading it already.


	10. New Friends and New Planets

The jump to warp was just as unpleasant as Ron had promised – and warp travel itself was not particularly great either. The pulsing music and flashing brain lights, while not actively painful, were still extremely irritating and made it nigh impossible to concentrate on anything. 

As Ron had warned, sleeping offered no escape either. The sounds and lights continued at all hours, and even when Harrius managed to ignore them long enough to fall asleep, his sleep was plagued with the worst nightmares he’d ever experienced.  
Ron told him this was a normal symptom of warp travel, and everyone got it, but psykers got it particularly bad. Harrius figured this was just one more reason in a long list of why being a psyker sucked.

To add injury to insult, twice per day, the women who Ron referred to as the Sisters of Silence would come into the cell block, to bring food and ‘activities’, and to check that their prisoners were still technically alive. While the Sisters themselves were nice enough, their presence, or more specifically the aura of doom they emanated, was incredibly unpleasant. Every time they came in, Harrius tried to withstand it – but every time was just as bad as the first, and he inevitably found himself curled in the back corner of his cell, trembling violently and trying not to vomit.

It always took a while to recover as well, and when he finally got around to eating his bowl of bland, grey nutrient-slop, it was usually cold.

The ‘activities’ meanwhile were a series of mass-produced children’s puzzle booklets, or illustrated short-story compilations about various heroes of the Imperium. The puzzles were mostly very simple, and the stories were all shallow and predictable – but they were something to do. Besides, the puzzles became much harder when it was impossible to concentrate on them for more than five seconds. 

When he wasn’t trying to sleep, filling in a wordsearch, or cowering in existential terror, Harrius spent his time scraping patterns into the metal floor with a spoon, and talking to Ron. Ron told him all about life on Caph Prime and in return, he told Ron all about Halos. Their lives had been vastly different up until this point, and Harrius learnt a lot.  
Harrius was glad that Ron was there – he couldn’t imagine how he would have spent the time by himself, or how Ron had managed before. 

And so time passed, in a haze of too little sleep and too many ‘beginner’ sudoku puzzles. Eventually, the Blackship entered realspace again.  
And there, to Harrius and Ron’s amazement, not one, but two new prisoners were brought in through their vault door.

Harrius was too busy hiding from the Sisters at the time to see what they looked like, but he heard them come in. One, a boy, was sobbing loudly, while the other, a girl, was frantically reciting something to herself in High Gothic. They were locked into individual cells next to Harrius’. 

As soon as the nausea from the Sisters had subsided to a manageable level, Harrius scooted to the front of his cell, and pressed his face against the bars. He already knew he couldn’t see the other cells, let alone who was in them, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He could hear the boy still quietly crying, but the girl had gone silent.

“Ron!” he hissed in Ron’s direction. “More people!”

“I know!” Ron stage-whispered back. “This is awesome! But shhh, they’re probably still feeling sick! We gotta be quiet!”

There was a rustling from the cell next to Harrius’, and then the girl spoke up. “I can hear you, you know,” she said. “You’re not being quiet at all.”

“Oh,” Ron said, in his normal voice. “Well, in that case – hello! I’m Ron! What’s your name?”

“I’m Hermione,” the girl said. “And the boy who came in with me is called Neville.”

There was a loud, affirmative sniff from the cell at the end. 

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” Ron said. “As you can see, we’re on a gorgeous luxury cruiser. The walls are made of solid gold, and the ceiling is crystal glass. Exquisite music plays at all hours of the day, while we feast upon a buffet of delicacies from distant worlds. The servants wait on us hand and foot, standing by to indulge our every whim!” 

The girl scoffed. “Yeah, right,” she said. “And I’m the Contessa of Kel.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Ron said. “For all I know, you could be.”

He put on a stuffy, aristocratic voice. “However do you do, my dear Contessa? I, too, am a rich person.”

“Ugh,” Hermione said, while Ron laughed loudly at his own joke. “So, this is how it is? I am to be stuck in this abhorrent cage, with a guffawing jokaero next door? Just when I thought I was going to enjoy my stay here.”

“I told you,” Ron said, “this is a gorgeous luxury cruiser. How could you not enjoy your stay? Can’t you see all the gold?”

“Excuse me,” the boy down the end of the row said between sniffs. “I can’t see any gold. What are you talking about, please?”

This made Ron laugh even harder, while Hermione made tutting noises. “There is no gold, Neville,” she said. “This lummox is either delusional, or a comedian, which is even worse.” 

“Thank you,” Ron said. “Anyway, hilarious jokes aside – where are you from? I’m Ron, as I said, from Caph Prime. The other boy in here is Harrius, he’s from Halos.”

“Hello,” Harrius said.

“Hmph,” Hermione said. “We’re from Keltefar V, if you must know.”

“Never heard of it. What’s it like?”

“Keltefar V is an Industrial world,” Hermione began.

“Yikes,” Ron said. “Good thing you got out, then!” 

“Good?” Hermione said. “To leave our friends and families behind, and get sent off in some horrid cell, in a dreadful ship, to do some psychic nonsense forever? I think not.”

“Beats working in a mineshaft for your entire lifespan,” Ron said. 

“My family aren’t miners,” Hermione sniffed. “They’re Administratum.”

“Ooh, la-di-da. I bet you can read and write and do mathematics!”

“I can, actually, yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Ron said gleefully, “I just thought you sounded like a nerd, and now I know I’m right.”

“I can’t read,” Neville piped up. “And my parents are miners. They can’t read either.”

“Well, there you go,” Ron said. “Neville’s life will probably be vastly improved. Unless he, uh, sucks at being a psyker. In which case, his suffering will at least be vastly shortened.”

“What?” Neville squeaked.

“Hmph,” Hermione said. “Didn’t you say you were from Caph Prime, Ron?”

“Yes?” 

“Caph Prime is a wealthy planet, is it not? And its entire economy is based on trade and commerce, with the majority of jobs requiring a certain level of written communication and basic number management. It therefore has a rigorous public education system, does it not?”

“Maybe,” Ron said. “Just because the planet’s wealthy doesn’t mean my family is. What’s it to you anyway?”

“I’m certain,” Hermione said smugly, “that unless you are particularly dense, then you, too, know how to read. And write. AND do basic mathematics. And thus, by your own definition, you too are a nerd.”

“I, uh,” Ron said. “OK, fine. You’re correct. Your powers of deduction are truly amazing, Contessa!”

They continued to argue – but it was a good-natured argument. And with the four of them locked in together, the time flew by. There was another entire planet to learn about, with a whole new environment, history, and set of customs! Not only that, but Hermione and Neville came from extremely different personal backgrounds from both each other, and from Harrius or Ron. 

Hermione told them how she had lived most of her life in the central Administratum building in Kel, the planet’s largest city – a building so large, that she had only set foot beyond it a handful of times. With pride in her voice, she described the endless stacks of datafiles, the reams of print-outs, the vast banks of glowing green cogitators, and the omnipresent hum of servo skulls. Her life had been safe and comfortable, and everything had been planned out. She would finish schooling, and become an Administratum statistician, like her parents, and their parents before them. Then she would marry someone else from the Administratum, and have children, and the children would also become statisticians.

Except instead, her psychic powers had manifested, and put a giant metaphorical spanner in the works. Hermione was clearly upset that she wouldn’t be living the life which she’d always thought she would. But Harrius privately, and Ron very vocally, thought that it had sounded pretty bloody boring. 

Neville, meanwhile, had lived the opposite of a boring life. His home had been a small, rickety affair, built directly into the side of a gigantic mineshaft, defying gravity with each day it remained in place. Ever since he could remember, Neville had helped his parents work in the mine, holding lanterns, constructing support structures, pushing carts or breaking rocks into smaller rocks. This occupation was, unsurprisingly, extremely dangerous – and Neville explained that he had almost died fourteen times so far. He explained each near-death experience in terrifying detail, in a chillingly matter-of-fact tone, from the time he’d tunnelled into a seam of poisonous gas, to the time he was almost impaled by a rock drill, and most recently, the time he’d survived a massive cave-in through the sudden activation of his psychic powers.

Harrius came to realise that while his life on Halos may have been tough, it didn’t hold a candle to Neville’s experience. Ron and Hermione meanwhile were totally aghast. In particular, Hermione was startled to realise other people on her planet lived like that. 

“I had no idea,” she said, sounding horrified. “No idea how bad it was! Of course, I’ve seen data from the mines, on productivity and profit, and even things like ‘casualty rate’ – but a nice, tidy graph is just not the same hearing about it in person! Neville – why don’t the miners say something? Escalate the issue to someone higher in the command chain? Demand better working conditions!?”

Neville, however, seemed confused by the very concept. “I dunno what “escalate” means,” he said, “but I don’t think we can do that. Anyway, you shouldn’t be upset – things have always been like this. Mining is dangerous, and that’s just how it is.”

Despite Neville’s reassurances however, Hermione spent the next twelve hours being very upset that she couldn’t turn the Blackship around right now, go back to Kelterfar V, and give everyone there a piece of her mind. 

With new friends to talk to, and four young lifetimes of tales to share, warp travel became slightly more bearable. Sure, they were all stuck in a cage, and it was hard to sleep properly, and the Sisters of Silence continued to come into the room, and the food sucked even by Halosian standards – but they had each other to share in the misery.

Then at last, two uneventful warp jumps later, the Blackship finally arrived at Holy Terra. 

They knew they’d finally arrived when music, real music, began playing out of the vox. Everyone went quiet when the tinny fanfare crackled through the speakers. Then Ron suddenly yelled in excitement. 

“We’re here!” he exclaimed. “We made it, guys! We’ve arrived at Holy Terra!”

Harrius felt his stomach do a flip-flop of fear and excitement. A part of him had started to believe that this limbo life in the Blackship cell would go on forever, so it was almost a shock to finally get somewhere. 

And not just any somewhere, either: Terra! How many times had he heard of this planet, in Augustus’ tales, or the Ministorum’s sermons? It was the birthplace of humanity, and the seat of the God-Emperor himself! Harrius had occasionally imagined what it would be like to visit the Emperor, but now that he was a bit closer, he suddenly felt entirely overwhelmed by the concept. 

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he said queasily.

“I know!” Ron said. “I’m suddenly nervous!”

They all were – but they were forced to sit and stew in their nerves for a good few hours before they heard another announcement. When it finally came though, it confirmed their suspicions – they had definitely arrived.

Unlike previous announcements, the voxcast also addressed them directly. 

“Attention, unsanctioned witchlings!” a voice growled. “We have arrived at Holy Terra! Disembarkation shall commence in thirty minutes. Unsanctioned psykers are reminded that they must follow ALL instructions given to them, to the letter, or they will be shot!  
If a psyker displays aggressive, insubordinate, or unruly behaviour, then they will also be shot. If a psyker shows ANY indication that they will use their unholy powers – be it intentionally or unintentionally – then they will be double shot! None of that warpy shit, or you’re dead fuckin’ meat, got it?”

“How nice,” Hermione said dryly, as the cast cut off.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “But you gotta do what they say, at least until we get to the Scholastica. They’re not kidding around. My brothers have told me a bunch of horror stories, and trust me, you don’t even wanna scratch your nose out of line. Don’t talk back, or complain, or try to be smart, even if they really deserve it. Don’t do ANYTHING which will mark you as a troublemaker, alright?”

“If it means we get to leave this room forever,” Harrius said, “I’ll do anything they say.”

“Do you suppose,” Hermione said stiffly, “that they’ll separate us? What if we never speak to each other again?”

“Hermione, why would you say that?” Ron said. “You didn’t have to say that.”

“It might happen,” Hermione said. “I’m just being practical. Perhaps we should say goodbye, just in case?”

“Nope,” Ron said. “I’m not listening.”

It wasn’t much longer when the vault door to their cell block opened, and a pair of Sisters came in. Somehow though, their usual aura of doom was greatly lessened – and Harrius noticed they were both wearing the same sort of techno-crowns that he’d seen on the first group of Sisters he’d encountered.  
It was refreshing to look at the Sisters without feeling like his organs were trying to strangle him from the inside. But at the same time, Harrius realised that the Sisters could have shut off their auras at any point, but had purposefully not – and he couldn’t help but feel a little resentful of that. 

Still, he did as the Sisters gestured he should do, hastily throwing on the fresh robe they handed him, and moving to stand out the front of his cell. His cellmates did the same, and for the first time, Harrius saw them all properly.

Ron was quite tall and gangly, and had bright red hair, long and shaggy after months without a haircut. Hermione had bushy hair, a turned-up nose and slightly buck teeth, while Neville was short and stocky, and had an unflattering bowl cut. He was also carrying something – a yellow animal-shaped pillow with big, bulging eyes, hugged tightly to his chest. Harrius briefly wondered if, and how, Neville had managed to bring it all the way from his homeworld, but he decided that now was not the time to ask.

Once everyone was ready to go, one of the Sisters handed everyone a slip of parchment, on which was printed the same information from the Fortitude test, all those weeks ago. Meanwhile, the other Sister moved to open the vault door. Seeing this, Harrius braced himself, preparing to be mentally assaulted by sound and light – but apparently the Despicable Disco had been turned down a few notches. 

Instead, Harrius was surprised to see that the Blackship hold was now alive with dozens of kids, moving along the catwalks in orderly lines, or standing in groups near the various exits. Harrius had known that there were other vaults, and had suspected that each vault held several kids, but it was different seeing them all at once. Most of them seemed to be a similar age to Harrius, although many were a lot younger, and some were a bit older, in their mid-teens. All were wearing identical black robes to Harrius. He felt momentarily stunned, as he realised they were all psykers – there were so many! 

The Sister leading the way brought Harrius and the others to the nearest exit point, and deposited them there, at the back of a line of kids. Harrius eyed the new kids with interest, and they stared back, but no one said anything. There were too many Sisters watching, and the threat of being shot for disobedience was still fresh in everyone’s mind. 

The line shuffled slowly forwards, as groups of kids were shepherded into an elevator and lifted away. Harrius and his cellmates stuck close together, and all managed to get into the same elevator. As the doors closed, Harrius and Ron grinned at each other – this was it, they were really leaving! And good riddance, too! Harrius felt certain that whatever cell he was put into next, there was no way it could be as bad as the Blackship.

As the elevator slowly rose, Harrius suddenly began to feel wide awake and alert, as though a fog had lifted from his mind – and for the first time in weeks, he realised that he couldn’t see the dancing lights in his brain. He had gotten so used to them, that he’d started to forget they were there – but now they were gone, he could suddenly think so clearly! 

The other kids in the elevator were clearly experiencing something similar, because a wave of whispers and fidgeting arose amongst them. The Sisters who were in the elevator with them made signs for quiet and calm, but it was barely contained.

Then, the elevator came to a stop, and the kids were let out into a new, gigantic room. 

There were even more kids in here, standing in long queues, watched over by adults with black-and-white uniforms and large, menacing guns. The queues led through several checkpoints, where kids were apparently sorted by some unknown metric, before being loaded into one of several waiting Arvus Lighter shuttles. The shuttles filled quickly, and trundled away out of sight down a massive tunnel, to be immediately replaced with another.

Harrius and the others joined the end of the first and largest queue, and Harrius squinted and craned his neck, trying to see where they were going. 

The first checkpoint seemed to be a pair of large gates, alive with uniformed guards. The guards were checking the parchment slips of each kid in the queue, and deciding which gate to send the kid through. 

The left gateway was marked with an unfamiliar symbol, a radiant circle with a skull at its centre. The majority of the kids, about three quarters, were being sent through this gate, and were loaded into shuttles with no further processing.

The right gate meanwhile was marked with a stylised eye, a symbol which Harrius had seen before – it was the same eye symbol which Inquisitorial Agent Riquel had displayed at the top of his staff. The kids who were sent through this gate were subjected to what looked like a rigorous physical examination, as well as several more sorting steps, before they were loaded into a carrier craft. 

Harrius wanted to ask Ron what was happening, and why the kids were being sorted, but there were people in uniforms nearby, so he didn’t dare open his mouth. A part of him hoped that he would be sent through the left gate, as it looked like a lot less trouble – but fifteen minutes later, when it was his turn to go through, the guards took one look at his parchment and sent him to the right.

Harrius barely had time to think “fishpoop”, before he was stripped to his underwear. A woman in a uniform prodded at his ribs, and lifted his arms, and opened his mouth to look at his teeth like some sort of domestic beast at the market.

“Age?” she asked him curtly. “Imperial Standard, please.” 

“Eleven,” Harrius squeaked. 

The woman took out a tape measure and measured his height, before getting him to stand on a scale and weigh himself. Then she gave him a thermometer to put in his mouth, while she checked his heartrate with a stethoscope. 

“Do you have any long-term medical issues?” she asked him. “Shortness of breath? Frequent stomach aches? Eyesight deficiencies?”

“Ummf,” Harrius said around the thermometer. “I wear glasses usually.”

The woman nodded, and removed the thermometer from his mouth, glancing at it. “Good,” she said. “That’s it, then. Get dressed.”

While Harrius did so, she scribbled an illegible note on the back of his parchment strip and punched a stamp onto the front. Then she gave it back to him, and pointed him through the next gate. 

On the other side, Harrius was glad to see Ron was already there – and shortly, both Hermione and Neville joined them. They all moved closer together, and grinned at each other. None of them dared speak yet, since they were still being watched, but Ron waggled his eyebrows meaningfully, and waved his sheet of parchment. 

Harrius hadn’t looked at his own parchment properly yet, and did so now. It said:

#7708625508736  
Potter, Harrius  
Righteous Herald  
ζ TK (+?)  
Scholastica Psykana  
H 373

It was mostly was the same as last time he’d seen it, except for the addition of the stamped-on H 373. Harrius raised an eyebrow at Ron and pointed at it questioningly.

Ron showed his slip of parchment to Harrius, which said: 

#7708625507055  
Weasley, Ronaldius  
Righteous Herald  
Θ TK  
Scholastica Psykana  
H 372

He then shrugged, and mouthed something which Harrius didn’t catch. Then, he pointed at Harrius’ paper again, at the ζ TK (+?) line, and made a surprised face. 

Harrius thought he understood most of the lines, but this line had always remained a mystery. “What does it mean?” he mouthed at Ron.

Ron glanced around at the uniforms nearby, and then leaned in. “Dude,” he whispered excitedly, “you’re a zeta rank? You’re powerful as shit!”

Harrius had no idea what Ron meant, and just stared at him in confusion. Ron opened his mouth to say more, but noticed a uniform looking his way, and closed it again. “Tell you later,” he hissed out the corner of his mouth. 

The new line they were in remained frozen in place for a good twenty minutes, before it suddenly surged forward. They went through several more gates in rapid succession, before coming out in front of a shuttle. Before they knew it, they had all been loaded on board, where they were instructed to sit on the floor, pressed knee-to-knee with thirty or so other kids. Four uniforms with guns also climbed on board, strapping themselves in to seats along the walls, and glaring down at everyone. Then, the doors hissed closed, and the shuttle’s engine growled to life. 

There were no windows, so it was hard to tell what was happening, but Harrius felt the shuttle trundle around several corners, before its engine suddenly got a lot louder. The ship abruptly accelerated, and several of the kids inside it squeaked in terror, before clamping a hand over their mouths and eyeing the guards. 

After that, nothing much happened for a while. Everyone sat quietly and stared at the floor, the silence interrupted only by the occasional sniff or hiccup. It was eerie, sitting amongst such a large group of people, with none of them saying a word. 

After a while, a red light began flashing in the centre of the ceiling. Harrius saw the uniforms brace themselves and grab onto handles in the wall, and a moment later the shuttle began violently shaking. Kids were jostled all over the place, and some of them screamed. 

“Silence!” one of the uniforms yelled, hefting their gun. “This is nothing to be alarmed about! We are entering the atmosphere. It will be over soon!”

And sure enough, a few minutes later the shaking subsided. And not long after that, with a jolt, the shuttle’s wheels hit tarmac. 

It was with a similar jolt in his heart that Harrius realised they had landed on Terra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do the kids who go through the left gate end up? Harrius and his friends are absolutely better off not knowing…
> 
> Note – Psychic power ratings give an estimation of what a psyker is able to do. I have been using the below webpage to assign power ratings to the characters (in case anyone is interested).
> 
> [Psionic Power Levels](https://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/The_Assignment)


	11. Scholastica Psykana, Branch H

After taxiing for a while longer, the Arvus Lighter came to a stop, and the doors were opened. Air blew in, and it smelt of acrid dust, and rain on warm rockcrete, and the faint tang of incense. After weeks of sterile void-ship air, this was unmistakably the rich, complex scent of a living planet. Harrius breathed deep, and the scent of it resonated somewhere inside of him – he was back on solid ground, where a human belonged, and it felt good. I’m here, he thought, grinning to himself. Augustus, I made it. I made it to Terra!

The uniforms instructed everyone to stand up and calmly exit the shuttle in single file. One by one, they stepped out onto a vast expanse of rockcrete, dotted with landers and small clusters of buildings. It was warm, surprisingly so, and the gravity was stronger than what Harrius was used to, pulling his limbs down like invisible weights. 

He was too excited to be thrown off by a little extra gravity though. His head turned this way and that as he tried to take everything in at once – the hazy sky with its yellow-grey clouds, and the vast expanse of the lander port, and the landers themselves in all sorts of colours and makes. And beyond the port, colossal structures, piercing the sky in every direction, although they were too far away to make out detail, especially without glasses.

In a daze of awe, Harrius followed absently behind Ron as their group was shepherded towards the nearest building, and arranged into three neat rows of ten just outside the door. He only started paying attention again when a new group of people came out of the building, and only because they looked interesting. 

There were six of them in total. Four wore long, black, button-up coats, with a golden eye symbol emblazoned on the breast pocket, as well as other unfamiliar marks of rank and status across their chests and upper arms. The other two, who hung back in the doorway, wore light grey carapace armour, their faces obscured under helmets. They each carried a lasgun, holstered, but still menacing.

The leader of the group was a thin woman, with greying hair in a tight bun – Harrius could tell she was the leader because her coat was the most heavily embellished, with rows of metal ornaments, clinking and flashing in the light. She approached, and slowly walked up and down in front of the rows of kids, examining them with a critical eye. As she did so, one of the Blackship uniforms handed her a clipboard of papers, which she paused to flick through.

“Very good,” she said, reaching the end of the row and pursing her lips in a thin smile. “All recruits appear to be present and undamaged. Any incidents to report?”

“No, ma’am,” one of the Blackship uniforms replied. 

“Good,” the woman said. “I believe that will be all, then.” She passed the clipboard to one of the other black-coats, who took out an enormous stamp, thumped it solidly onto each page, and gave it back to the Blackship uniform. 

After that, they all saluted each other, and the Blackship uniforms went back to their shuttle, leaving the kids in the hands of the woman and her entourage. 

“So,” the woman said, stepping to the front of the group and eyeing the kids again. “Welcome to Terra, children! And rejoice – for you have made it through the worst.  
I am Minerva McGonagall – although to you, I am Professor, or Ma’am. You – you are no-one. At this time, you are nothing more than a number in a vast and intricate machine. However, it seems preliminary tests have indicated that you have potential, and with proper training, perhaps you can be worth something more. And so, I am pleased to announce that you have all been enrolled in the Scholastica Psykana, wherein you shall learn to control you innate psychic abilities, and become a powerful asset to the Imperium.  
Specifically,” she added, “you have been enrolled in Branch H.”

The woman paused, eyebrow raised at the silent rows of kids. 

“You may clap and cheer now,” she said. “This is excellent news!”

Obediently, the kids began clapping, and some of them added in an experimental whoop or two. Confused, Harrius looked at Ron, who gave a tiny shrug in return.

“Very good,” the woman said, as the clapping petered out. “Now, if you would all follow me. Calm and orderly, please!”

She turned and led the kids around the building, to where a pair of large transport vehicles were idling. The vehicles were black, unmarked, and had no windows aside from the driver’s. The inside was well lit, however, and full of rows of seats, like a bus. The kids were split into two groups and swiftly loaded on board. 

Harrius and Ron sat next to each other, and Hermione and Neville sat in front of them, and they all sent each other nervous looks, unsure if they were allowed to talk. One of the guards in grey carapace armour, as well as one of the black-coats, had come into the back of the bus with them.

As the man in carapace moved passed to sit at the back of the bus, Harrius felt a sudden familiar feeling of nausea, and he winced. This man was like the Sisters of Silence – a psychic blank, as Ron had called them. Great. Just when he thought he’d seen the back of them.

The black-coat meanwhile stood at the front of the bus, and cleared his throat to draw everyone’s attention. Seeing him closer up, Harrius realised he was a lot younger than Harrius had first assumed – a mere teenager. 

“Alright,” the teen said, eyeing everyone suspiciously. “This is going to be a quiet, well-behaved trip, got it? You are all to stay seated until we arrive. You are allowed to chat with your peers, at a low volume only – no shrieking or hollering or crying! If you need to pee, you’ll have to hold it in until we get there. And if you’re hungry or whatever, that’s not my problem. Oh, and no psychic stuff, or the warden will be forced to remove his limiter – and no-one wants that, trust me!”

The teen then sat down at the front of the bus, his back to everyone – and immediately, everyone began talking. For the first time, Harrius could see his cellmates when he asked them things, and it was fantastic.

“See, Hermione,” Ron said. “You were worried about nothing! They didn’t separate us at all. Looks like you’re going to be stuck with me forever after all.”

“Apparently so,” Hermione frowned. “And I’m sure that isn’t a coincidence. It seems they had already decided where we would ultimately go, before they even locked us up together.”

“The power of bureaucracy,” Ron said. “So – does that mean we’re all telekines? I am, and Harrius is too, based on the “TK” on his datasheet.”

“Oh THAT’S what that is,” Harrius exclaimed.

“I believe I am a telekine,” Hermione said. “Although I am not entirely familiar with the different types of psyker. Strangely enough, the Administratum did not view it as an important addition to their educational curriculum.”

“Ah,” Ron said with a grin. “Then it looks like it’s down to me to educate you!”

He cleared his throat, while Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Broadly speaking,” he recited, “there are five types of psyker. From most to least common, these are Telepath, Telekine, Biomancer, Pyromancer, and Divineer.  
Telepaths can read people’s minds, and most of them become Astropaths. Telekines can float objects around, as you are all personally familiar with. Biomancers can manipulate flesh, which is honestly creepy as hell, but they can also heal wounds and stuff, so they’re not all bad. Pyromancers can manipulate energy, most famously fire. And Divineers, the poor bastards, can see into the future and predict events – although they’re also famously bad at it.”

Harrius and Neville ooh-ed and ahh-ed, as did several other nearby kids, who had leaned in to listen. Meanwhile, Hermione did a very poor job of pretending that she wasn’t extremely interested. 

“Of course,” Ron continued, looking around at his audience, “those are super broad categories, and there’s a lot of variation within each one. But the vast majority of psykers fit into one of these – or more than one if they’re a high enough power rank. Like Harrius, for example! Mate, you might be in more than one category, it even says so on your datasheet! Did you know he was a zeta rank, you guys?”

“Ron, I have no idea what that means,” Harrius said, as some of the other kids goggled at him.

“It means you’re a big brain buff man,” Ron grinned. “You’ve got oodles of psychic potential! You could fling a truck into the atmosphere!”

“I don’t know about that,” Harrius said, still confused. “But I did crush a fishing boat once.”

“I’ve never seen one of those, and don’t know how impressive it is.” Ron said. “But cool!”

“Well, it was only half a boat, really,” Harrius said. “But…I guess it was pretty cool, actually. Yeah.”

“Damn right!” Ron said. “Anyway, looks like we’ll all be in the same group, in the same Branch of the Scholastica! Telekine buddies!” 

He held out his hands for hi-fives, and then, when no one responded, he spent ten minutes explaining what a hi-five was.

As they talked about nothing and enjoyed each other’s physical company, the bus travelled away from lander port, stopping and starting as it moved through traffic, and then climbing gradually upwards. After several hours, it finally arrived at its destination, and the engine cut out. The bus fell silent as the teen at the front stood up again. 

“We’re here,” was all he said. “Everyone out!”

They stepped out into a large courtyard, and Harrius was once again struck with awe at the view. It was early evening, and the sun backlit the haze in radiant reds and golds. Vast, man-made superstructures, skyscraper conglomerates of steel and rockcrete, stood stark against the bright sky, near, and far, and away into the horizon.

Much closer, a gigantic building loomed, taller and wider than anything Harrius had ever conceived possible. A stone behemoth, its façade was decorated with rows upon rows of pillars and archways and crenulations, lit from within by a thousand tiny windows. A vast symbol, a radiating eye over the I of the Inquisition, towered storeys high across the front of the building. Below is was the largest letter H Harrius had ever seen.

The sound of a sharply cleared throat brought Harrius and everyone else back to ground level. Professor McGonagall had reappeared, and everyone fell silent and stood up a little straighter. 

“Alright, children,” McGonagall said. “We have arrived at Branch H – your new home! Shortly, we shall enter, and you will be shown to your dorms. But firstly, there is a certain induction ceremony to get out the way.  
You are to follow the prefects – that is, these three young men and women – and they shall lead you to the ceremony in Mess Hall A. There, you shall be officially sorted into your House, as befits your psychic talent. Your House will determine, among other things, your dorm room, class schedule, and class-mates.  
During the sorting ceremony, you are to remain quiet, and stand in an orderly manner. Afterwards, you shall be provided dinner. Say ‘Yes ma’am’ if you understand.”

“Yes ma’am,” the group chorused.

“Very good,” Professor McGonagall said. “Let us be off, then.”

She turned on her heel and marched towards the massive Branch H building, and everyone hurried to follow. They all went in through an almost ludicrously regular-sized door, and down a richly decorated hallway – the light fixtures were encased in decorative glass, and there was framed art on the walls, things which Harrius had only seen in cathedrals before.

Several twists and turns later, they arrived at a gilt antechamber. There were already several other groups of kids waiting inside, huddled together before an enormous double door, with stained glass windows in the top third. Even from outside, Harrius could tell the room beyond the door was huge – and he could hear the drone of many people talking. 

He suddenly felt nervous, his stomach twisting like it was full of live eels – and he began to wonder exactly what this ceremony was. Professor McGonagall had said they would be sorted ‘as befitted their psychic talent’ – but what did that mean? Would he have to demonstrate his ‘talent’ in front of a crowd? He very much hoped not. Despite what Ron had said earlier about him apparently being powerful, he didn’t remotely feel like it. Everything here was so large and decadent and intimidating, and he was a small, bewildered boy from Halos. 

As he turned to poke Ron however, and ask him if he knew what was going to happen, he noticed something else – or rather, someone else – and it distracted him entirely. Their group had jostled closer to one of the other groups of kids who had got there before them – and as his gaze passed over the crowd, Harrius abruptly recognised one of them. 

The white-blonde hair really was quite unusual, after all.

Harrius froze and stared at Draco, mouth half open. He’d almost forgotten that the blonde bully had been taken up to the Blackship when he had. He also hadn’t remotely considered the possibility that they would both end up at the same school. But here they were, just metres away from each other.

As if sensing his gaze, Draco turned his head, and their eyes met. With a small jolt, Harrius realised that one of Draco’s eyes was all messed up, milky-white and sightless. 

Draco’s good eye widened, and then his expression set into a snarl. “You,” he said, stepping forwards. “What are YOU doing here??”

Harrius closed his mouth and scowled defiantly at Draco. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

Draco came to a stop half a metre from Harrius, and looked him up and down. His expression of rage faded, to be replaced with a sneer. “Tch,” he said. “So, you’re a filthy witch, then?”

“Yeah,” Harrius said. “So are you.”

Draco narrowed his eye. 

“Well?” he said, after a pause. “What sort are you?”

“Telekine,” Harrius said. “What are you?”

“Pyromancer,” Draco replied, and he grinned suddenly. “You know, Harrius,” he said, “I really thought you’d gotten away with it.” He tapped his cheekbone, just under his white eye. “I really thought I’d never get you back for this. But here you are! And here I am, gifted with the power to control flames.”

He leaned in closer, and Harrius leaned back, away from the taller boy.

“Harrius,” Draco said. “Ever heard of the expression ‘an eye for an eye’?”

“The heck’s happening here?” Ron appeared next to Harrius. “Who’s this bozo?”

“Draco,” Harrius said. “He’s…from my homeworld.”

“Riiight,” Ron said. “I can see the, uhhh, comradery.”

Draco looked Ron up and down with an expression of distaste. “Tch,” he said again, and then he turned away and went back to his own group.

Ron made a face. “What was that about? I gather you guys don’t like each other?” 

“Yeah, he tried to kill me once,” Harrius said. “But I got away. After putting caustic soap in his eye.”

“You did the eye??” Ron said. “Mate, that’s pretty hardcore!”

“He started it!”

“Oh, I’m sure he had it coming,” Ron grinned. “Still – that’s wild that you’re both here! What are the chances of that? So unlucky!”

“It really is,” Harrius said. 

He glanced at Draco’s back, and let out a sigh of worry. He’d just got here – but already, he was going to have to start looking out for trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to call it "divineer" rather than "diviner", purely because I like the sound of the former better.


	12. The Sorting Ceremony

It wasn’t much longer before the massive doors to Mess Hall A cracked open, and Professor McGonagall reappeared. The antechamber fell silent, as everyone suddenly remembered how nervous they were.

“Alright, children!” McGonagall said. “Form a line! The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin!”

There was a small, silent scuffle as everyone tried not to be the first person in line, and a small girl lost. With huge eyes, she stared at Professor McGonagall as everyone jostled in behind her. 

With a nod, McGonagall opened wide the double doors – and the scent of incense and candle smoke gusted out. Beyond was a vast, rich hall with a domed ceiling, and it was full of people. 

The people were seated at one of five long tables. Four of the tables were in parallel, two on each side of a broad central corridor, and the fifth perpendicular at the far end of the room, atop a dais. There were candles along each table, and in the crenulations of the walls, and suspended mid-air on huge chandeliers, and on every other level surface possible. The candles were the primary source of light in the room, but there were so many of them that it was surprisingly bright. 

Between ornate pillars, the walls were painted a metallic golden, and they gleamed warmly in the light. Above, the ceiling was painted to resemble a map of the Imperium in all its glory. Each star was a tiny electric light, amidst a sea of deep blues and purples. Hundreds, no, thousands, of systems were marked on the map including, of course, Terra itself – although Harrius doubted that Halos was up there. The Imperium was incomprehensibly vast, and in comparison, Halos was profoundly insignificant. 

Looking more closely at the tables, Harrius realised that most of the people seated at them were only a little older than he was – kids and teenagers, in plain black button-up uniforms, each with a series of coloured stripes on the arm. The stripe colours corresponded to a banner of the same colour, which hung on the wall at the end of each table. 

There was a word and a picture on each of the banners, and Harrius squinted at them until they came into enough focus to read. The first banner was red, and the word RAPTORA was emblazoned across it. Next was a yellow banner, marked PAVONI, and then a green banner with PYRAE, and lastly, blue with CORVIDAE.

Each was accompanied by a symbol, although Harrius did not recognise any of them. He wondered if these were the ‘Houses’ McGonagall had mentioned.

The kids from the antechamber filed slowly down the central corridor, coming to a stop before the fifth table – the table on the dais, which hosted exclusively adults with highly decorated coat-fronts. McGonagall instructed the kids to stand in neat rows of four abreast, before she left and climbed onto the dais herself. She nodded to the other adults, and then took a seat at the table, between a pallid man with greasy black hair, and an elderly man with a tidy white beard and an extremely elaborate coat.

After a moment of silence, the elderly man stood, and made his way around to the front of the dais. Despite his age, he moved with grace, and he radiated an aura of power which was almost palpable. All eyes in the room were drawn to him, and what little whispering there had been amongst the Branch H students ceased completely.

On reaching the front of the dais, the elderly man nodded at each of the tables below, and then turned his attention to the newcomers in the centre. Spreading his hands in a gesture of greeting, he smiled at them.  
“Welcome, young psykers,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “Welcome, to the Scholastica Psykana. I, Professor-Primus Albus Dumbledore, formally salute you, the newest recruits of our order. You have travelled far and suffered greatly to be here – but now, you have arrived, and now, you are home. Here, amongst peers, you shall train and grow stronger. And you shall find your true worth, in the glorious light of the Emperor, and indomitable might of the Imperium.”

He then began reciting a litany in High Gothic – and many others in the hall joined in, their voices whispering and echoing beneath his. Startled, Harrius looked around the hall with wide eyes. He had no idea what anyone was saying, but they were all saying it together, and it was eerie.

Then, the litany was over, and Professor-Primus Dumbledore turned his attention back to the new kids. “And so,” he said, “with no further ado, let us begin the Sorting Ceremony. Minerva, Fillius, if you would?”

Professor McGonagall, as well as another adult, a very short man with a large moustache, stood up and moved to the front, while Dumbledore returned to his seat. At the same time, a pair of teenagers darted up the stairs, placed two chairs on the dais, and rapidly retreated. The short man sat down on one of the chairs, but McGonagall remained standing. She was holding a dataslate, which she poked at briefly and adjusted her reading glasses.

“Alright,” she said briskly. “The Sorting Ceremony shall bring each psyker into a House of their own kin. These Houses are: Raptora, the House of the Telekine; Pavoni, the House of the Biomancer; Pyrae, the House of the Pyromancer; and Corvidae, the House of the Divineer.”

As she spoke each name, she gestured in turn to the four banners on the wall – and the corresponding table gave a politely restrained cheer.

“In your House,” McGonagall continued, “you shall be amongst those who share in your own abilities, and understand the Immaterium as you do. Together, you shall learn to harness your psychic talent, and you shall form bonds, which in later life you may come to rely on.  
The Houses also serve to create a sense of healthy competition amongst the Sanctionites. Each House will be rewarded points for their triumphs, and punished for their transgressions. At the end of each Training Phase, the House with the most points will be awarded an Honorary Cup, and proclaimed the Phase Winner.”

There was another cheer from the tables, and several people stamped their feet or chanted the name of their House. 

“Yes, indeed,” McGonagall said, sounding amused. “But enough of that, now – let us assign our newest Sanctionites to their Houses! When I call the number on your datasheet, you are to ascend the dais, and join Professor Flitwick and I. You are to hand your datasheet to me, and then you are to sit in this chair, and obey the instructions Professor Flitwick gives you. Say “Yes Ma’am” if you understand.”

“Yes Ma’am,” the kids chorused. 

“Excellent,” McGonagall said, and glanced at her dataslate, before holding it up to show a large number on the screen. “Let us begin,” she said. “H 300 – you are first up.”

There was a pause, and then a girl stepped forwards. Head down and shoulders hunched, she walked quickly to the front of the group, and up the stairs. Without looking, she gave McGonagall the datasheet, and then hurriedly sat down in the chair, looking extremely apprehensive.

Professor Flitwick asked her several inaudible questions, and then held out his hand. Hesitantly, the girl placed her hand in his, wincing in fear as the skin made contact – but apparently, nothing happened, as her shoulders relaxed a moment later.

Flitwick meanwhile closed his eyes and sat very still. As this went on for longer than thirty seconds, Harrius leaned over and nudged Ron. “What’s happening?” he whispered. “Is he reading her mind?”

Ron shook his head. “Divineer,” he hissed. “He’s probably reading her future.” 

On the dais, Flitwick jolted suddenly, and then opened his eyes. He nodded at the girl and McGonagall, and then turned to the room at large. “Pavoni!” he announced. 

The table under the yellow banner clapped, and looking bemused but relieved, the girl scuttled over to join them.

The next kid went up and was also sent to Pavoni. Then the one after that was sent to Corvidae. Meanwhile, Harrius was feeling a lot more at ease – if this was all the sorting was, then it was going to be easy.

Gradually, the line of waiting kids got smaller and smaller, as more and more kids were sent to their House. Draco, well ahead in the list of numbers, got sent to Pyrae, and joined the green table with a grin on his face. Harrius scowled in disgust as Draco triumphantly punched the arm of another Pyrae Sanctionite, and slouched back in his chair. His one consolation was that, at the very least, they wouldn’t end up in the same House together.

The number of kids to still be sorted continued to dwindle, and soon, Ron was up next. As his number was called, he waggled his eyebrows at Harrius and the others, and then moved away to ascend the dais. A few moments later, he was sent to Raptora.

Then, it was Harrius' turn. Heart thudding loudly in his ears, he made for the stage, acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes upon him. Hurriedly, he handed McGonagall his datasheet, and then dumped himself into the chair. 

Professor Flitwick sent him a calm smile. “Welcome to Branch H,” he said, in a slightly squeaky voice. “What is your full name?”

“Um,” Harrius swallowed nervously. “Harrius Potter.”

“Nice to meet you, Harrius,” Flitwick said. “We’re pleased to have you here. Now, if you would just tell me a couple of things about yourself, and I shall determine which House best befits you…”

He then asked several questions, about Harrius’ date of birth, and Homeworld, and one thing he liked and disliked. Then, as Harrius had watched him do with every student before him, he held out his left hand for Harrius to take. 

A little gingerly, Harrius placed his hand in Flitwick’s, and watched the small man’s eyes roll back in his head. He was half expecting to feel something, like when Riquel had read his mind – but aside from a slight thickening of the air, he felt nothing out of the ordinary.

Flitwick, meanwhile, was not experiencing nothing. Harrius watched as his face twitched, eyeballs moving frantically underneath his lids. A moment later he gasped sharply, and opened his eyes. 

“Emperor,” he muttered, letting go of Harrius’ hand and rubbing his head. 

“What is it, Fillius?” McGonagall said, moving closer.

“I am…not sure,” Flitwick said, frowning slightly. “I saw…a great many things, both fantastic and terrible. But it is impossible to say which of them, if any, shall come to pass.”

“This child IS apparently a zeta rank,” McGonagall said, eyeing Harrius’ datasheet and pursing her lips slightly. “Therefore, it is not surprising that his future should be eventful.”

“Oh, eventful, yes,” Flitwick said. “He has a lot of…potential. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

“Indeed,” McGonagall said. “For the present moment however, we are merely deciding his House. Which shall it be, Fillius?”

“He’s a multi,” Flitwick said, massaging his temples. “Pyrokine, I believe. The demand is for pyromancers at the moment, correct?”

“Pyrae, then?” McGonagall said. 

“What?” Harrius blurted out. “No!”

McGonagall and Flitwick both turned to look at him. 

“No?” McGonagall said.

“I just, I don’t want to go to Pyrae,” Harrius said, shrinking into his chair. “I’m a telekine! Aren’t I? I just want to go to Raptora! Please?”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, and looked at Flitwick. 

“Well,” Flitwick said, “hopefully that is the right choice. But if you insist – then your House shall be RAPTORA!”

He spoke the last word much louder, and the table under the red banner cheered in response. Bewildered, Harrius left the stage and made his way to the table. Spotting Ron, he hurriedly sat down next to him and tried to look as small as possible.

“What was that about?” Ron asked him quietly, as they watched Hermione make her way to the dais. “You were up there for ages!”

Harrius breathed out a long, shuddered breath, and shook his head. “Tell you later,” he whispered. He was still processing what Flitwick had said – and wondering what it meant. A great many things in his future, both fantastic and terrible? That didn’t sound good at all. 

Around him, the ceremony continued, and both Hermione and Neville joined them at the Raptora table. Harrius was too busy worrying about his ‘eventful future’ to pay attention to the rest of the Sorting though – and before he knew it, it was over. The hall fell silent again as the chairs were removed from the dais, and Professor-Primus Dumbledore once more made his way to the front. 

“So, that marks the end of the Sorting Ceremony,” the elderly man said, beaming around at each table. “Congratulations to all new Sanctionites! I wish you nothing but the best in your new House. And now, it is time for the event we’ve all been anxiously waiting on – the feast! Plant your bottoms firmly down, and tuck into what I have no doubt will be a truly delectable spread! But first – a few words: Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak. Thank you.”

He went and sat down again, and Harrius glanced at Ron in confusion. But before he could say anything, the doors to the hall opened, and dozens of well-groomed servitors carrying enormous plates of food trundled in. 

All other thoughts in Harrius’ mind instantly vanished, as he stared in open-mouthed awe at the vast hunks of meat, steaming rainbow bowls of plant roots, vats of pie and quiche, jugs of thick sauces, and pitchers of sweet, carbonated juices. Almost all of the foods were completely unfamiliar to him – but they smelt incredible, and it was all Harrius could do to stop himself drooling on the table.

He hadn’t realised just how hungry he was, but he realised now, and his stomach growled in ferocious anticipation. It had been months since he’d eaten a good, solid meal – and even then, what he usually considered a nice meal was nothing compared to this. This…this was so extravagant. With actual tears in his eyes, he took a plate and cutlery, and started heaping foods onto his plate. 

He took some of everything, and began shovelling it into his mouth, marveling at the flavours. The meat was so tender and flavoursome, with herbs and oils he’d never tasted before exploding in his mouth. The roots were strange and brightly coloured, but they were good, so much better than any plant which grew on Halos – and best of all, they were not saturated with salt. In fact, the food wasn’t salty enough – a problem which Harrius had literally never dealt with in his life.

“Woah,” Ron said, watching Harrius sprinkle salt onto his plate for a solid ten seconds. “You like some vegetables with your salt, huh?”

“Eef noff thaf salfy,” Harrius said, shovelling a giant spoonful into his mouth. 

Ron made a face. “Gross, man. Don’t talk to me until your mouth is empty.”

Too soon, Harrius’ stomach was angrily telling him that he’d eaten enough, and Harrius stared sadly at the heap of food which remained. 

“I just want to keep eating forever,” he sighed. “I wish my stomach was three times larger.”

“Mate,” Ron said. “You’ll get to eat food like this all the time from now on! We’re on Terra, remember. This sort of food is literally what they eat all the time.”

“Emperor,” Harrius said dreamily. “This really is the Holiest of Planets!”

He spent the next half hour asking Ron about the different foods in front of him, before his mortal soul nearly left his body when the servitors reappeared for round two, dessert. Harrius somehow found room to try some of the sugary treats, only stopping when he started to feel physically ill.

By now he was also starting to feel very sleepy – and he barely noticed when the servitors returned a third time to remove all the dishes. Ron had to poke him awake when Dumbledore stood up again to make another announcement.

“An excellent supper,” Dumbledore said, patting his stomach. “And an excellent start to the Phase! But before we all toddle off to bed and surrender to our food comas, I have a few important messages to share.”

“Firstly, new and old Sanctionites alike are reminded that they are to stay within their designated hallways at all times. For new Sanctionites, this includes the first and second floors, and much of the ground floor, excluding kitchens, staff-rooms, and other off-limits areas which are clearly marked. New Sanctionites should also be aware that they are not permitted to leave the Branch H complex at any time, and should have no reason to. Sanctionites who are found disobeying these rules will be disciplined, and their House shall be penalised. 

“Secondly, new and old Sanctionites are reminded that they are not, under any circumstances, to use their psychic powers outside of designated training periods. This is a strict blanket ban, and students who do not comply will be disciplined, and their House penalised.

“Thirdly, on a lighter note – I would like to introduce to you all our new Fortitude professor!”

He gestured to a man who was sitting at the end of the dais table, and the man stood up and nodded to the room. He was thin, with a somewhat hunched posture and a purple turban on his head.

“Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Professor Quirinus Quirrell,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “He is a highly skilled biomancer, with many years of practical experience with the Inquisition. It is our great fortune that he has decided to take a break from his work in the field, and teach at our branch!” 

Everyone clapped politely, and Professor Quirrell bowed left and right. “Th-thank you, P-P-Professor-Primus, and everyone,” he said. “I am extremely h-h-honoured to b-be here.”

“It is we who are honoured, Quirinus,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you.”

Professor Quirrell sat down again, and Dumbledore spread his arms to encompass the room. 

“And thus,” he said grandly, “with those announcements out of the way, I lastly wish upon all of you a brilliant Phase, full of good fortune and rigorous learning! And as we turn in for the night, I shall leave you with these words to muse upon:

“Question – what has the Emperor ever done for you?  
Answer – what have you ever done for the Emperor?

“Now, off to bed with the lot of you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The staff of Branch H have no idea where the names of the Houses came from. As far as they know, the Houses have always been named those things, and the names have absolutely no broader connotation whatsoever.
> 
> The House symbols look like [this](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammer40k/images/f/f7/TS_Cult_Icons.png/revision/latest?cb=20170406232414), if they were redrawn and redesigned for ten-thousand years by a chain of artists who never spoke to each other. Athanaeans is the House of Telepath – but for uhhh plot reasons, the telepaths are trained in a different building.


	13. Raptora House

Harrius woke the next morning in an unfamiliar yet strangely comfortable bed – and for the first time in a long time, he awoke feeling alert and refreshed. There’d been no brain lights or nightmares to keep him awake, and no drugs to keep him unconscious. It had just been a regular, ordinary sleep, in a regular, ordinary bed.

It worked wonders. Harrius felt wide awake and ready for anything. He wasn’t in a cage anymore, he had breakfast to look forward to, and his friends were still here – and maybe, just maybe, things might go back to normal now.

Or a sort of normal, anyway. This was still Terra, and he was still a psyker.

Sitting up in bed, he looked around at his new room. He was in the Raptora Phase-1 dorm, on the top of a narrow bunk bed, and sunlight was pouring in through the windows. Ron was asleep in the bunk directly below him, and across the room, Neville and a boy called Seamus were asleep in another bunk bed.

A digital clock over the door showed that it was 10:00 – although Harrius wasn’t entirely sure what this meant from a Terran perspective. Quietly, he climbed down from his bunk, and moved to look out of the window. It was a bright, sunny day in the upper hive, and already surprisingly warm, if the heat radiating from the glass pane was anything to go by. Spires glittered near and far amidst iridescent clouds of smog, towering above layers upon layers of rooftops and archways and criss-crossing bridges, down and down, into the perpetual twilight of the hive valleys. 

Harrius stood and just looked for a long moment, mesmerised by the alien view, basking in the sunlight and the nigh-incomprehensible scale of the structures before him. Then, he remembered that he wanted to check out the common room, and dragged himself away.

Cracking open the door to his dorm, he slipped quietly through, and padded his way to where he remembered the common room being from the previous evening. It was a large yet homely space, with several tables and comfortable couches arranged inside. There were boardgames stacked on some of the tables, as well as baskets of pens and pencils, and low-quality notepads to draw or write in. Many of these notepad drawings were stuck to the walls, alongside cautionary notices, educational posters, inspirational prayers, and the occasional home-made purity seal.

There were very few people in the room – but one of the people present was Hermione. She was fully dressed, in a crisp black uniform with a single red stripe on the arm, and was sitting in an armchair, reading a book. The title was in High Gothic, which Harrius couldn’t read, but based on the cover art it looked like some sort of mathematical textbook. 

Harrius approached her, and she looked up and gave him a friendly nod. “Hi Harrius. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, actually,” Harrius said. “I like not being on the Blackship anymore.”

Hermione nodded. “I certainly agree. I can finally get some proper reading done! Did you know, that cupboard there is full of books? I was quite pleasantly surprised!”

Harrius opened the cupboard she pointed out and found that it was indeed full of books. Half of them were in High Gothic, and the other half were educational textbooks, written in a miniscule font, with tiny black and white pictures. 

“Yep, those are books,” Harrius said, closing the cupboard again and turning back to Hermione. “How long have you been up, anyway? Did you go outside the dorm yet?”

“No, and several hours,” Hermione said. “I’m a morning person. Say, have you found your uniform yet? They’re quite easy to find – just look inside the wardrobe in your room. You should pick one sooner rather than later, to make sure you get one which fits. Also, I recommend the showers – they’re really very excellent!”

Harrius glanced down at his grubby feet, sticking out of his baggy grey pyjamas. He had grabbed the pyjamas at random from a pile the previous evening, and had been too tired to find a well-fitting set.

“Good idea,” he said.

He went back to his room, and tried his best to quietly rifle through the wardrobe, picking out a coat, undershirt, and pair of trousers which looked like they would fit. There were also towels in the wardrobe, and he took one, and went to find the showers. 

Hermione had been right – the showers were truly excellent. Harrius had never enjoyed hot water more. He stayed in there for ages, before emerging in a cloud of soap-scented steam, grime free from head to toe. 

After that, he returned to his bunk, and found that Ron and Seamus were both awake, and chattering excitedly. Neville was apparently a deep sleeper and hadn’t yet woken up, despite the fact that the other two were not really bothering to keep their voices down.

“There you are, Harrius!” Ron exclaimed when Harrius appeared. “Oh…wow, your hair is brown?”

“Yeah?” Harrius said. 

Ron laughed. “I’ve never seen it clean before! And where’d you get that uniform?”

As Harrius showed the other boys where he’d found everything, there was a knock on their doorframe, and a teenager poked his head into the room. It was the same teenager who had sat at the front of their bus yesterday – although seeing him now, Harrius realised that he was wearing a Raptora uniform, with five red stripes across the arm. 

“You lot,” he said stiffly. “Meeting in the common room, ten minutes! It’s mandatory.”

Then he disappeared again, closing the door behind him with a snap. 

“Who IS that guy, anyway?” Ron said.

Ten minutes later, they were all dressed in their uniforms and ready to go, although Neville had a wicked cowlick and looked like he was still 80% asleep. Together, they made their way to the common room, where they found the rest of their cohort, as well as the grumpy teen. Hermione was still sitting in the same armchair as earlier, and they all moved to stand or slouch behind it. 

“Right,” the teen snapped, once the last few stragglers came in and closed the door behind them. “You’re all here, finally! And…” he deliberately checked the timepiece on his wrist “…some of you are late! It’s currently eleven-o-four. That’s four entire minutes we’ve been standing here, waiting! Not a good start, people! NOT a good start.”

Ron and Harrius exchanged a look, while Hermione sat up straighter in her seat, eager to prove just how punctual she could be.

“Now, some of you might be thinking “oh, it’s just four minutes, who cares?”” the teen continued. “But trust me – YOU should care! Because it’s not about time – it’s about discipline! Discipline is an extremely important virtue, and especially so for the psyker. Psykers must demonstrate self-control and discipline at EVERY opportunity. It is a key part of success, and in building trust in non-psychic individuals! In fact, the sloppy, undisciplined psyker is not only an embarrassment to the order, but a hazard to everyone! And if you can’t display even the most basic discipline, like showing up on time, then it reflects very badly upon your character!”

Rant over, he took a deep breath, and looked around at his wide-eyed audience. 

“Right,” he said. “So, issue of tardiness aside, let’s do this properly. My name is Perseus, and I’m the Raptora Prefect. That means it is my job to make sure you keep every toe in line. If you don’t get to classes on time, or if you don’t do your homework, or if you stray into out of bounds areas, then that’s my ~personal~ problem. And if it’s my problem – then it’s your problem too. All of your problem!”

He turned and pointed at a device on the back wall, which displayed four coloured screens, each with a row of zeroes across it. 

“See that?” he said. “That’s the House point counter. As you can see, each House is currently at zero points, because the phase is just beginning. But during the phase, there are ways to earn points for Raptora, and bring us glory, and maybe even win the House Cup. Or, instead, you can piss around and break the rules, and lose our House points. And then it won’t just be you who suffers for your transgressions – it will be all of us.” 

“That being said,” he added, “I’m not just here to make sure Raptora wins this year. I’m also here to ‘help’ you. If you have any questions, you can ask me – although don’t expect me to do your homework for you. Uhh…speaking of homework…”

He opened a folder which had been sitting on the table, and began handing sheets of paper around. “These are your class schedules,” he said over the rustling of paper. “Your classes start at eight in the morning sharp. Please take note of when each class begins and ends, and which room it takes place in. I would highly recommend committing the entire schedule to memory, in fact.”

Harrius took his schedule, and looked down at it curiously. The first thing he noticed were mealtimes – breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all pencilled in, and he grinned happily, already dreaming about all the delicious food he was going to eat every day. If the meals were even a fraction as good as the feast the previous evening, then he was planning on getting extremely fat here. 

“Emperor,” Ron said, next to him. “Look at these classes.”

“I know,” Hermione said, turning around in her chair and beaming at them. “Don’t they look exciting?”

“I don’t know if exciting is the right word,” Ron said. “Literacy? Mathematics? Those just sound like regular school! Are we secretly going to a regular school? Where’s spoon-bending 101?”

“I believe that’s what “Practical” is,” Hermione said, pointing. “Also “Fortitude” is probably related.”

“Ugh,” Harrius said, reading his sheet properly. “Faith and Prayer, four times a week? It was already boring just once a week at home!”

“Um, help?” Neville said, looking bemusedly at his schedule. “I can’t read.”

“Mathematics, for two hours!” Ron groaned.

“Right!” Perseus clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “I can tell you’re all excited to get started right away, but unfortunately, proper classes won’t resume until next week. In the meantime, there will be a couple of special classes, to determine your current literacy and numeracy level, etcetera. If you turn your schedule over, you will see the special schedule for this week printed on the back. As you can see, your first class is this afternoon, at 14:00. Now, does anyone have any questions? If not, then we can all- um…you have a questions, uhh…?”

“Harrius,” Harrius said, putting down his hand. “And yes, Perseus, sir, I have lots of questions.”

“Oh, good,” Perseus said, through a very forced smile.

“Can we leave the dorm rooms?” Harrius asked. “Are we allowed to, I mean? Or just for classes?”

“You are permitted to leave the dorm,” Perseus said, “although only between the hours of 05:00 and 21:00. And as phase one Sanctionites, your boundaries encompass the first two floors only, as well as certain sections of the ground floor. The sections where you are NOT allowed are Clearly Marked with Cautionary Signage, and you are not to go there. I’m fairly certain most of this was covered last night?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Harrius shrugged. “Anyway, my second question is, how much food are we allowed to eat?”

“How much food?” Perseus wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know, as much as you want! As long as you attend all your classes, and get back to the dorm in time for curfew, then I literally don’t care if you choose to spend all your free time shovelling grub into your cakehole.”

Harrius grinned. “Awesome,” he said. “Are we allowed to bring a snack into class as well?”

“Absolutely not,” Perseus said.

“OK, but what if-” 

“One more,” Perseus cut him off. “I’ll allow one more question! And how about we let someone else have a go? How about you, young lady?”

“Yes, um,” Hermione said. “I just wanted to ask about the class which is at 14:00 today? The schedule says “Practical”, with Professor McGonagall – but it doesn’t say where it is?”

“Ah, yes, the Psychic Test,” Perseus said. “Someone will come and collect you from this very spot. You are to all meet here at 14:00 – and I expect everyone to be here exactly on time! Four minutes late is four too many, people!”  
He began talking about discipline and the importance punctuality again, but this time, no one was listening. Instead, the offhand mention of the “psychic test” in a few hours had spurred the entire cohort into a state of alarm.

“Psychic test???” Ron hissed. “I wanted to do something more interesting than maths and grammar, but this is a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, they could’ve given us some warning,” Seamus said indignantly. “We just got here!”

“What are they going to make us do?” Neville squeaked, eyes very wide.

“Hopefully, it’s an exam,” Hermione said.

“Why would it be an exam, it literally says “Practical”?”

While the others furiously whispered around him, Harrius silently panicked all on his own. He was absolutely not prepared for this. Ever since that morning on the bay, he’d avoided even thinking about his psychic powers, in any way which wasn’t completely conceptual. The very phrase “his psychic powers” was foreign to him, since it didn’t feel like the powers were his to command at all. Rather, they were something which had happened to him, something dangerous, freakish and completely beyond his control.

Now though, in just a few short hours, he was going to have to try and summon that other layer again, and the thought was utterly terrifying. He was terrified that it wouldn’t work, and that this had all been some sort of horrible mistake, and he wasn’t really a psyker, and they would kick him out of the Scholastica Psykana, and send him back to Halos in shame. He was also terrified that it would work, and that he would rip open a hole in reality, and torrents of gore would pour into the room and drown him and everyone else.

He was so worried about the upcoming test, that not even the prospect of a buffet brunch distracted him. Perseus grandly led the cohort downstairs to Mess Hall C (much smaller and plainer than Mess Hall A), but he barely even noticed the corridors around him.

As he silently sat down to eat, without even salting his food first, Ron nudged him with a pointy elbow. “Are you alright?” he asked. “For someone who asked the Prefect about food, twice, in front of everyone, you don’t seem very excited about this buffet.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Harrius said, his stomach churning violently.

“What?” Ron scoffed. “Alright, Fake Harrius. What did you do with the real one?”

“I am the real Harrius,” Harrius said.

“That sounds like something Fake Harrius would say!”

“I’m just,” Harrius said, “worried about the psychic test. Everyone keeps assuming I know how to use my “powers”, but I don’t!”

“Me too,” Neville said miserably from across the table. “I’m definitely going to flunk the test. All of the tests, actually. At least you guys have been to school before!”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Ron said. “Doesn’t matter if you flunk literacy at first, I’m sure you’ll catch up. Anyway, spelling things right is overrated.”

“OK, but what if we fail at being a psyker?” Harrius said. 

“Well, OK, that would be bad,” Ron said. “If you’re a psyker, you definitely want to be good at it. The Imperium doesn’t suffer a witch to live, unless they can train them to blow stuff up on command. But,” he added with a grin, “we ARE good at it, otherwise we wouldn’t be here!”

“Yeah, but,” Harrius said, “what if they brought me here by mistake?”

“You, a zeta rank, here by mistake? Pff, as if.”

“Yeah, but what if that’s also a mistake?”

“Harrius, mate,” Ron said, putting his hand on his friend’s arm. “You’re meant to be here. You too, Neville. The Inquisition put you here – are you going to argue with them? And Professor Flitwick, a powerful divineer with many years of experience, he also thinks you’re supposed to be here. Are you disagreeing with him, huh?”

“Well, I guess not,” Harrius said slowly.

“Exactly,” Ron said. “Anyway, we’re all worried about the test later. I’m worried! Hermione might not be, but that’s because she’s really weird and loves tests.”

“I do not love tests,” Hermione sniffed. “I just…enjoy the intellectual challenge.”

“Whatever,” Ron rolled his eyes. “The point is, none of us really know what we’re doing. We’re ALL incredibly unprepared.”

“Well,” Harrius said, and he gave a small smile. “That sucks, for all of us.”

He paused, and then frowned down at his breakfast.

“Hey,” he asked, “can you pass the salt?”


	14. The Psychic Test

After breakfast, Perseus led everyone back up to their dorm, and told them to stay there and amuse themselves until 14:00. Then, to Harrius’ alarm, he was singled out, and told to stand by the door. 

With the air of a man on death row, Harrius waved his friends goodbye, and stood where Perseus had asked. A moment later, he was joined by another boy, who looked similarly worried. 

“What did we do?” the boy asked. “Are we in trouble?”

“I think,” Harrius said, “I may have asked him too many questions about food.”

“OK, but why I am here, then?” the boy said. 

They fell silent as Perseus reappeared, with a girl in tow – Harrius recognised her as one of Hermione’s dormmates, although he hadn’t spoken to her yet.

“Alright, you three,” Perseus said, hands on hips. “You’ve all been identified as requiring minor medical assistance. This must be addressed before classes begin, so follow me – we’re going on a trip to the Medicae wing! Quickly, now, I have more important stuff to do!”

He turned on his heel and marched out of the dorm, and Harrius and the other two scrambled to follow. At a brisk pace, he led them through a maze of near-identical corridors, and up a stairwell. 

“Third floor,” he commented as they reached the top of the stairs. “You’re not allowed to be here, unless you’re with me, got it?”

Shortly, they arrived at the Medicae wing, which was marked by a large, wooden double door, with a stylised caduceus carved into one panel and a fleur-de-lis in the other. Beyond was a waiting room, brightly lit and smelling faintly of counterseptic, its walls a light greenish-grey. As they entered, a Hospitaller nurse looked up from her cogitator screen.

“Perseus!” she said. “It’s been a while! My my, look at you – a great big Prefect now!”

“Y-yes,” Perseus said stiffly. “I’ve, uh, brought the first phase Sanctionites…”

“Oh?” the nurse said, smiling down at Harrius and the others. “And who might they be?”

“Um,” Harrius said, as Perseus turned to glare at him meaningfully. “Harrius, ma’am.”

“I’m Dean, ma’am,” the other boy said.

“Parvati, ma’am,” the girl said, and then coughed wetly, doubling over as she did so. 

“Oh dear, that’s a nasty cough,” the nurse said, frowning. “Is that why she’s here, Prefect Perseus?”

Perseus brought a tiny notebook out of his pocket, and unfolded it. “Short-sightedness,” he said, pointing at Harrius. “Tightness of breath,” he pointed at Dean. “And persistent lung rot,” he pointed at Parvati.

The nurse clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” she said, and reached for a small vox-caster on the desk. “Belvedere, Roslyn, come to the front, please,” she said, her voice amplified throughout the wing.

A moment later, two more nurses appeared, and led Parvati and Dean away into separate rooms. The nurse behind the desk told Perseus to wait, and took Harrius into a tiny room off to the side. There, she got him to look at a chart of letters on the wall and then, to his total lack of surprise, informed him that his eyesight was pretty bad. 

“Don’t worry, though,” she said cheerfully. “We have a selection of corrective eyeglasses, and you can pick whichever frame you like. Do you have a favourite colour, young man?”

Harrius said his favourite colour was green, and then got overwhelmed with choice when the nurse brought out an entire box. Eventually, after trying on a series of increasingly goofy frames, he asked the nurse to please pick one for him.

The frames she chose were circular and black, but the temples gleamed with an iridescent green in the light. “What do you think?” she asked Harrius, as he looked at himself in the tiny hand-held mirror. 

“Yeah,” Harrius grinned. “I like them.”

He was sent back to wait with Perseus, until the other two came out, and he spent the time turning about in his chair and just looking at things with his freshly corrected vision. It had been a while since he’d lost his old glasses, and he’d almost forgotten how much detail there was supposed to be.

Meanwhile, Perseus was the picture of impatience, tapping his foot, shifting in his seat, and looking from the timepiece on his wrist to the timepiece on the wall and back again. When the other two finally appeared, he jumped to his feet and immediately began ushering everyone out, a too-large smile plastered across his face. 

Then, upon arriving back at the top of the stairs, he made a show of looking at his timepiece, while frowning and hissing through his teeth. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said to Harrius and the others. “But I really must be off! That little consultation took longer than I expected, and I’m going to be late! But you know the way from here! Just head straight back to the dorm, and don’t get into trouble on the way. Alright? Good – well, I’m off, then…”

He nodded, and turned on his heel and left.

“Ummmm,” Harrius said, as he disappeared around a corner.

“Do,” Parvati hesitated, “do you guys know how to get to the dorm from here?”

“No,” Harrius said.

“Not at all,” Dean said.

“Great,” Parvati sighed. 

After standing helplessly for a bit, they decided to give it a shot, and all went down the stairs. Almost immediately though, they hit a junction. 

“I think we came from the left,” Dean said.

“Wasn’t it the right?” Parvati frowned. “I remember that ugly painting, with the creepy cherubs.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t THAT painting?” Harrius pointed. 

“Oh,” Parvati said. “Why do they have two of them?”

A few minutes later, they were extremely lost. The second floor was huge and labyrinthine, and every corridor looked the same. Trying their best to keep calm, they wandered past endless classrooms, storage rooms and statues of military heroes. They managed to find the Corvidae dorm, and the stairwell to the first floor, and then the Corvidae dorm again. They also found a Mechanicus priest in a closet, who waved a spanner around and yelled at them in binary, before slamming the door in their face. 

“Sorry,” Harrius said. “We didn’t know.”

Parvati suggested that they ask someone for directions, but aside from the priest, the only people they came across were wardens, silent and menacing in their grey carapace armour. The wardens didn’t so much as glance down as the kids scuttled past, but Dean still became convinced that one was following them.

Finally, after finding the Corvidae dorm for the third time, Harrius caught sight of a janitor in one of the classrooms. He went to knock on the window and draw their attention – but then he paused, eyeing the person inside. 

“Is it just me,” he said, “or is that lady unusually big?”

Inside the room, a giant woman in blue overalls was mopping the floor. She was broad of shoulder, and well over two metres tall, her mane of dark, curly hair almost brushing the ceiling. Turning to rinse the mop, she caught sight of the children at the window and looked startled for a moment, before smiling and waving in a friendly fashion. 

Deciding she wasn’t that scary after all, Harrius waved back, and then cracked open the door. 

“Um, hello,” he said. “Can you tell us where the Raptora dorm is, please?”

The woman put her mop down. “Are yer lost?” she asked.

“Yes, very,” Harrius said. 

“Not ter worry,” the woman said. “I can show yer where it is.”

She came out of the classroom, ducking her head to get through the door. Harrius and the others stood back to let her through. 

“This way,” she said, gesturing for everyone to follow. “Tell yer the truth, you’re pretty far. How’d yer end up over here? Get lost between yer classes?”

“Actually, Perseus abandoned us,” Parvati said. “He’s our Prefect.” 

“Oh, that old stick-in-the-mud,” the woman said, to everyone’s delight. “I know him well. If he were any more o’ a prick, he’d be a cactus. Though, don’t tell him I said that.”

Harrius decided he liked this woman. Running to catch up to her enormous stride, he fell into step beside her.

“I’m Harrius,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Rubelinia Hagrid,” the woman said. “Though most people just call me Hagrid. Rubelinia’s got a lot o’ syllables.”

“Do you know everyone here?” Harrius asked. “All the Prefects, and the tutors?”

“I suppose,” Hagrid said, “although not that personally – I jus’ see ‘em in the corridors a lot. I’ve been workin’ here fer twenty-two years, and after that long, you just get to know everyone.”

“Twenty-two years!” Harrius said, eyes wide. “Did you clean floors that whole time?”

“Yeah,” Hagrid said. “Among other stuff. It’s not so bad. The Psykana treats their employees with respect, and that’s all I ask fer, really. It’s not so easy findin’ work, when you’re, yer know,” she gestured at herself. 

“Really big?” Harrius asked.

“A half-Ogryn mutant,” Hagrid said. “People don’t really like mutants very much. But the Psykana’s a bit more accepting. Probably because they’re a bunch o’ mutants themselves. No offense,” she added, eyeing Harrius.

Harrius however had just seen Hagrid’s pocket twitch, and was staring at it suspiciously. Seeing where he was looking, Hagrid chuckled. “Don’t worry about that, that’s jus’ Norbet,” she said.

“Norbet?” Harrius asked. “What’s a Norbet?”

Hagrid stopped in her tracks, and reached into her pocket, gently retrieving the lump. Pulling it out, she revealed it to be a small, brown animal, blinking and twitching its long whiskers in the light.

“This is Norbet,” she said. “Say ‘ello!” 

Harrius leaned in to look, and Parvati gasped in delight, eyes sparkling – but Dean took a step back, a look of disgust on his face. 

“You keep a rat in your clothes?” he said.

“Norbet’s a rat?” Harrius said. He’d heard of rats before, in ancient legends, where they were described as vicious pests with an unending appetite, devouring crops and food stocks, bringing famine and plague upon the population. On Halos though, rats had never been a problem – none of the food stocks were edible, without first being thoroughly cooked and heavily supplemented with vitamins. 

Harrius had therefore expected rats to be a much more fearsome animal than the tiny furred beast which sat in the janitor’s hand. In fact, the rat was very cute. It had tiny pink paws and beady eyes, and it sat up and twitched its whiskers at Harrius with an air of curiosity.

“Are you allowed to keep that as a pet?” Dean asked, still standing well back. “What if it bites you? Won’t you catch a disease?”

“Naw, he’s harmless,” Hagrid said. “Raised ‘im since he were a baby. He washes himself clean, and he only eats the food I give 'im. ‘sides, it’s not his fault he’s a rat. Here, ‘ave a proper look at 'im – isn’t he a wee handsome man?”

Dean looked extremely doubtful, but he came a little closer. “I suppose,” he said. 

“See, he’s a sweetie,” Hagrid said. “You just gotta give ‘im a chance.”  
She stroked the rat gently with a single huge finger, and then carefully placed it back into her pocket.

“Anyways,” she said. “We’re nearly there. This way.”

A few corridors later, they came out in front of the Raptora dorm, and everyone gave a small sigh of relief. They all thanked Hagrid, who bashfully waved their thanks aside. “It was nothin’,” she said. “My pleasure. And, if you see me around again, don’t be afraid to come say hi. Norbet loves company!”

Back in the dorm, and glad to be there, Harrius found his friends, and explained to them why it had taken him so long to get a pair of glasses. While he’d been gone, they’d unpacked some of the boardgames. Hermione was playing cards against another of her dormmates, Lavender, while Ron was destroying Seamus at Regicide. After he’d wiped Seamus, Ron then showed Harrius how to play, before obliterating him as well. 

Then suddenly it was almost 14:00.

At 13:52, Perseus reappeared, and began yelling at everyone to tidy up their mess. Then, at 13:58, Professor McGonagall walked in, and everyone fell silent and stood to attention. 

His stomach churning with renewed anxiety, Harrius and the rest of his cohort followed McGonagall and Perseus to a large classroom. There, everyone sat and watched McGonagall take out a dataslate and begin a rollcall. 

While she did so, a woman with cropped white hair and another teenager, both in Raptora uniforms, came in and stood behind her. Two wardens also came in, and went to stand in the corners at the back. 

“Alright,” McGonagall said, putting her dataslate away. “That’s all Sanctionites accounted for.”

She placed her hands behind her back, and leaned forward slightly, perusing the students over the top of her reading glasses. “Welcome to your very first Practical class,” she said. “As the Head of Raptora House, I shall be your Practical tutor – alongside Professor Hooch.” She gestured at the woman with cropped white hair, who nodded to the class.

“And, for today,” she added, “since it is our first session, I have also enlisted the help of two of our best final phase students.” She gestured at Perseus and the other teenager. Perseus puffed out his chest and looked tremendously smug. 

“Now, as you may be aware,” McGonagall continued, “Practical class is THE class, and the ONLY class, where you are allowed to use your psychic talents. However, you are NOT to use them unless I say you can. And if I tell you to stop, then you must do so IMMEDIATELY. The Immaterium is inherently treacherous, and must be approached with extreme caution.”

“In fact,” she said, “before I go any further into the thrilling detail of lesson structure, I must firstly impart upon you some words of great importance.”

She paused, and looked around at her audience. They were dead silent, hanging onto every word. 

“You are the Empyrean’s chosen,” she said. “This is not a blessing. This is a curse.”

“I would like to tell you that your lives from now on will be easy, but I am not one to coat my words with sugar. You are psykers, and that means you must struggle. Here, in branch H, and in other places like it, you will find sympathy amongst those who share your fate. But the Imperium at large will not be so kind. They will see your curse, and they will fear you because of it.

“It is not their fault – in fact, they are right to fear you, because you are dangerous. Each and every one of you in this room is a ticking timebomb, and if left unchecked, you will explode. 

“Fortunately, you have not been left unchecked. Instead, you have been brought here, and you have been given an opportunity – an opportunity to channel your curse for good. 

“I do not have to tell you that the majority of psykers do not have this opportunity. To be blunt, most are executed for the danger they pose. Or, if left alive, they succumb to the insidious evils of the warp, and their minds are destroyed. But you are not them. Instead, you have been given a chance to prove that your lives are worth something. The Imperium has spared you, and for that, you owe it your life.

But I warn you, you have one chance, and one chance only. You must work your very hardest to seize this opportunity, and become what the Imperium needs of you. To those who do so, glory awaits, and the Imperium will rejoice, knowing that the forces of the Emperor are strong. But to those who fail – and some of you WILL fail – I can tell you now that only death awaits. And in your death, the Imperium will rejoice, knowing that another witch is dead.”

McGonagall was silent for a moment, letting her words sink in. Then she calmly picked up her dataslate again. 

“So,” she said, “with that out of the way – let us begin our first Practical class. When your name is called, you are to stand up, and go with either myself or one of my helpers to your designated workroom. You are to follow all instructions given to you in a calm and orderly manner. You will answer all questions politely, and if you have a question of your own, you may raise your hand and wait until acknowledged to ask it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the class said as one. 

“Excellent,” McGonagall said. “Now, could Brunneis, Lavender please come up to the front?”

One by one, in alphabetical order, the students were taken out of the room by either McGonagall or one of the other tutors. In the meantime, those remaining were left with a large book called the ‘Breviary Psykana’ and instructed to read out passages to the rest of the class. The book was a collection of short prayers and litanies, which were supposed to calm and focus the mind. Reading them though, Harrius felt anything but calm.

Soon, Harrius’ name was called, and heart in his mouth, he stood. Professor McGonagall herself was standing at the door, and she crooked a finger at him. 

She took him to an adjacent classroom, which was empty except for a single desk in the centre, and a lone warden standing silently in the corner. McGonagall instructed Harrius to sit at the desk, and sat herself on the other side. On the desk was a single clothing button, and Harrius stared at it in apprehension. 

“Harrius Potter,” McGonagall said, putting down her dataslate and eyeing him. “A psyker of great potential, or so Fillius claims. I am looking forward to see what you can do.”

Harrius could only squeak slightly in response.

“Alright,” McGonagall said. “You will see before you a button. Your task today is to move it, using only your psychic talent. It is not important how far it moves, or where to, only that it does move. Now, if you watch closely, I shall demonstrate – which, I shall add, is not something I will do often. It is said that the wisest psyker never uses their talents – and the second wisest only uses them to float buttons. Watch closely, now-”

She raised a finger, and to Harrius’ amazement, the button lifted smoothly off the desk. It stopped at eye height and rotated slowly, first in the horizontal plane, and then in the vertical. The button then circled Harrius’ head three times, before landing on the desk again with a tiny clack.

“There,” McGonagall said. “Now it’s your turn. And,” she added, as Harrius opened his mouth, “don’t bother telling me you can’t do it. I know you can.”

Harrius wasn’t so sure about that, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he leaned forward and stared intently at the button. Move, he thought at it. Move, button! Please?

It did not move. 

“You must focus,” McGonagall said, watching him. “Not just on the button, but on the spaces around it. See the desk the button sits on. See the air around it. See how it connects to those positive and negative spaces. Then, feel the button as well.”

Harrius tried to do that, but it was just a button – circular and grey, with four holes where the thread would go through. He couldn’t really feel anything except McGonagall’s eyes on him, and the anxious racing of his own heart.”

“Um?” he said helplessly. 

“You’re still looking with your eyes,” McGonagall said. “You must look with something deeper. Reach from inside yourself and feel the energy. It is alright if you don’t immediately see it. Just remain calm, and try again.”

Harrius breathed in and out, concentrating on the button again. He tried picturing that other layer, the layer he’d caught a glimpse of once before, but he couldn’t quite remember what it looked like. He stared at the button until his eyes started to feel dry, but still nothing happened. He spoke to the button in his mind, cajoling and pleading and demanding it to move, but it did not respond. 

As his fears that this was all some sort of mistake began to grow louder, he sat back and gave a huff of frustration. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t know how to do it.”

“Yes, you do,” McGonagall said. 

“No,” Harrius said, and he felt tears start to prickle at the back of his eyes. “I don’t! I’m trying, I’m really trying, but it’s not working! Maybe…maybe I’m not even a psyker-” 

“Pish posh,” McGonagall interrupted him. “You are getting in your own head, is all. I need to you to relax, and close your eyes – go on, close them! That’s it. Now, I want you to remember what happened when your powers first awakened. If the memory is painful, then I am sorry, and I urge you to focus only on the parts which are relevant. But you must remember the moment you first opened your soul to the warp – remember what it felt like.”

Reluctantly, Harrius did as she said, and he thought back to that day on the bay. He hadn’t thought about it in a while, not properly. In fact, he’d spent a lot of time trying hard to not think about it. But now, he finally let his guard down, and he let the memory wash over him. He remembered the roll of the ocean, the stench of bait, and the sound of Dudleus complaining. He remembered the flash of sodium bombs, and then the feeling of pure adrenaline when the sea monster appeared. The panic as the boat tipped and started sinking under the waves. The terror and betrayal as his own uncle pushed him into harm’s way…

Then he thought about the power that had arisen to save him. The elastic feeling of the world around him, the exhilaration as he took the blades of the motor and hurled them into the monster’s throat. And as he remembered it, at last he felt something, a sort of resonance in his chest, a coiled energy which tugged at his being. And then he opened his eyes, and at last, he saw the other layer.

He made a noise of shock, and Professor McGonagall smiled.

“There we go,” she said. “Now, listen carefully. Look again at the button. See how it connects with this world, and that world. See how in this world, it is tied down by the laws intrinsic to its nature. And see that in the other world, those laws mean nothing. In the other world, the button is only a concept – an idea, given meaning by those who perceive it and call it ‘button’. In the other world, the button can be whatever you believe it is, and it can move however you want it to. 

“Now, Harrius, I want you to move the button in the other world. Imagine that it is moving upwards. Nay, believe that it should move upwards, that moving upwards is a perfectly natural thing it to do! Do you see what I mean, Harrius? Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Harrius said. “The button will move now.”

And as he spoke, the button abruptly shot into the air, with enough force to hit the ceiling with a loud clack. 

Harrius shouted, and the button fell down again, bouncing and rolling across the floor. “I DID IT!” Harrius yelled, standing up from his seat in excitement. “Did you see that? I did that! I did it, Professor! I AM a psyker!”

“Indeed,” McGonagall said with a smile. “Now, go get the button, and do it again.”


	15. Classes Begin

Now that Harrius’ doubts that he belonged in the Scholastica Psykana had been assuaged, he began to relax, and to even look forward to his classes. After all, he had enjoyed school back on Halos – why should school here be any different?

As it turned out though, there was absolutely a difference between having one class a week, and having classes all day, every day. 

Every scrap of Harrius’ time, including weekends, was organised into hour-long chunks – and in every chunk there was something planned out for him. During the week, classes began at 08:00, and went until 18:00, with a single hour-long break for lunch in the middle. On the weekend, there were fewer classes, but Harrius’ time was still scheduled into various ‘fun activities’, most of which were either some form of exercise, or homework disguised as an ‘educational game’. 

After classes was dinner, and then after dinner was another hour or so of homework. By the time the homework was done, Harrius was completely exhausted and would tumble into bed and immediately fall asleep, to wake at 06:30 the next morning and start the entire process again. 

The classes were also much more intense than Harrius was used to. Back on Halos, Augustus had covered one or two simple topics across an entire morning – but here, Harrius would have to rapidly digest a wide variety of topics, from multiple classes, all in great depth, and then be expected remember most of the content word-for-word.

There was no time to do anything other than what was written in his schedule. No time for hobbies, games, or hanging out with friends – no time to think about anything, except what he was given to think about. Initially, Harrius could barely keep up. He felt like he was drowning in a torrent of endless homework, which even being friends with Hermione couldn’t alleviate. 

But he made it through the first week, and then the second – and slowly, he began to adjust. Things weren’t all bad – the food continued to be excellent, and, even if it wasn’t by choice, Harrius spent most of his day in the company of people he liked.

Soon enough, he began to learn techniques of remembering the information thrown his way. He became much faster at reading and writing, and more efficient at recording what he learnt. He began to recognise patterns in the way each of his tutors taught their classes, and figure out exactly what they wanted from him, all to better streamline his time. And he began to develop opinions about each class – which of them he liked, and which he did not.

Practical was, of course, the most interesting class. Three afternoons per week, Professor McGonagall would lead the cohort down to the gymnasium, to let loose their psychic powers – although never without vigorous supervision. In a strictly regimented manner, the Raptora Sanctionites would take turns to levitate objects, from tiny pins to hefty dumbbells. 

Each object required a slightly different approach in order to control its movement, a custom ratio of finesse to power. Harrius found that he had no problem with the power side, lifting the larger, heavier stuff with ease – but he struggled with finesse, often catapulting whatever he tried to lift across the room or into the ceiling.  
With each class though, his control gradually improved – and with it, his confidence. In spite of his earlier worries, Practical rapidly became Harrius’ favourite class.

His second favourite class was Literacy – less for the content, which was just the basics of reading and writing, and more because Professor Flitwick was a great tutor. He explained the concepts clearly, he marked fairly, and his deadpan jokes were hilarious. On top of this, he had a habit of stopped suddenly mid-sentence, proclaiming some minor event which was about to happen, and then continuing as normal. This made his classes highly entertaining, even amidst the driest of lectures. 

In Astro-geography, Harrius learnt about the many worlds of the Imperium, both inconsequential and fundamental to the Imperial war effort. He memorized lists of systems, sectors, segmentums and tithes, and the names of hundreds of Planetary Governors. He learnt of the many wonderous and horrible biomes in which humans had stubbornly chosen to live.  
The class was drier than Augustus’ old tales, and at times bogged down in data, but it was still interesting. The tutor was a former Astropath called Professor Sinistra, an elderly woman who was strict and somewhat cold, but not unfair. She always wore a blindfold, with eyes drawn on it – but despite this, she could ‘see’ perfectly well. It was a bit spooky, and Harrius didn’t exactly like Sinistra, but he didn’t dislike her class as a whole. 

History on the other hand, he disliked immensely. Where Professor Sinistra always kept some interesting facts in amongst the lists of data, Professor Binns had no such issue. Binns was a bald, rotund man, who smelt strongly of spirits and exuded an aura of depression. His voice was quiet, almost entirely toneless, and he seemed uninterested in both the topic of his class, and life in general.  
The history of the Imperium of Man was long and bloody, and most people did not consider it boring – but somehow, Binns made it so. He brought up only the dullest of events in the last ten thousand years – wars of attrition, fought on planets entirely made of grey rock, or battles between two ships which were fifty-thousand klicks apart. Harrius found it an incredible feat of willpower to remain awake in his Thursday double period lecture, where Binns would list dates and names and locations for the students to memorise for two hours straight. The only way Harrius managed to keep up with the class at all was that somehow, Hermione was immune to Binn’s Aura of Boring, and would fill Harrius in on the important parts afterwards.

Another class Harrius found boring was Faith and Prayer, which was run by members of the local Ecclesiarchy. There were several priests, who came onto campus and taught on rotation, but their outfits and personalities were similar enough that it took Harrius several weeks to realise this. The classes themselves mostly involved memorising various prayers and litanies, or reading holy scripture.  
Occasionally as a treat, the priests would instead recount rousing tales of Imperial bravery and nobility in the war effort, stirring pride in the hearts of all who listened. These tales were simultaneously the reason Harrius didn’t find Faith and Prayer quite as boring as History, and the reason why he wished History was better. 

Fortitude turned out to be a distinctly average class. The content of the class was all about mental fortitude, and training the mind to be strong. This mostly consisted of a whole lot of logic puzzles, problem solving, and techniques to fortify the will, with the occasional lecture about the dangers of the warp thrown in.

This could have been a very interesting class, except that the man who taught it, Professor Quirrell, didn’t seem to possess a particularly iron will himself. He would often forget what he was talking about or ramble off-topic for fifteen minutes or more. Sometimes, he would pose the same logic puzzle twice in a row, and not notice until someone pointed it out. And whenever the topic of the warp came up, he would breeze over it, or quickly change the subject, acting as though he was afraid to even speak of it.

Mostly, the students viewed Quirrell and his class as a bit of joke – but he never yelled at them or took away House points if they turned in homework late, so no-one really disliked him. 

But there was one tutor that Harrius very much disliked – and one class which he hated, even more than History.

That class was Intermediate Mathematics, and the tutor was the head of Pyrae House, a pallid man with greasy black hair called Professor Snape. Snape was more than strict – he was downright cruel, seeming to revel in his student’s misery. He gave out more homework than any other tutor, and was a harsher marker, taking away House points for the slightest of transgressions. 

On top of this, he seemed to loath Harrius personally, and Harrius had no idea why. 

It wasn’t that Harrius was bad at maths – in fact, he was actually ahead of the curve in that regard. Back on Halos, Augustus had been very fond of mathematics, and had drilled a surprising amount of it into the heads of his students, Harrius included. In fact, until he got to the actual class, Harrius had been looking forward to Mathematics.

He knew his enthusiasm had been premature though the minute he walked through the door, and realised that Mathematics was a joint class with Pyrae.

Since talking to him before the Sorting Ceremony, Harrius had been actively avoiding Draco and the other Pyrae students. Until now this hadn’t been hard, as aside from the occasional joint class, the only time the Houses really saw each other was in the mess hall – a giant room with plenty of space to ignore each other. But here, in a small classroom, in a group of less than twenty people, it became infinitely more difficult to pretend Draco didn’t exist.

Sure enough, while they all waited for Professor Snape to arrive, Draco turned around in his seat and eyed Harrius, an unpleasant smirk on his face.

“So, dirt boy,” he said. “Looks like we have a class together.”

“Yeah,” Harrius said warily. “So what?”

“So, it’s mathematics,” Draco continued. “Fancy that! I didn’t know you could count. Where’d you learn that? Did they make you count each briskwort stalk you hacked out of the ground?”

“No,” Harrius said. “I went to school. Do you want something?”

“Do I want something?” Draco pretended think about it. “Hmm…actually…yes. I want you to suffer.”

Before Harrius could figure out how to respond to that, the door to the classroom opened and Professor Snape swept in – and it was safe to say the class only got worse from there on. Some of the students were not sitting down, and Snape immediately took away five House points from each of them. The tone of the class set, he then brought out a dataslate for rollcall, and informed everyone that they were to respond to their name with “Present, Professor,” and that any other response would result in more House points taken away. 

Harrius, who was still thinking about Draco’s threat, took slightly too long to respond when his name was spoken – and fearfully he glanced at Snape, to see whether Snape had noticed or cared. To his immediate dismay, his eyes met with Snape’s, and a jolt of adrenaline shot through his chest.

Snape’s eyes widened, and for a split second, his expression was something both terrifying and inscrutable. He looked as though he’d realised something frightful, or recognised Harrius from somewhere, although Harrius was certain they’d never met before.

Harrius could not look away. The man’s eyes were black like a starless void, and Harrius was paralysed under his gaze. He wanted nothing more than to shrink down into his chair and disappear forever, never see Snape again, never confront whatever unfathomable horrors the man had conjured in his mind… 

Then Snape looked down at his slate, and the instant was over.

Harrius breathed out a shaky breath, and gripped the edge of his desk, trying to calm his racing heart. Meanwhile, at the front of the class, Professor Snape continued the rollcall as if nothing had happened.

But it hadn’t been nothing – Harrius knew that he’d witnessed something strange, some tiny slip in Snape’s composure. He wasn’t sure what it meant – but it had thoroughly spooked him. In a state of unease, he watched Snape’s every move as the man finished the roll and began writing on the blackboard. 

“Welcome,” Snape said, “to Intermediate Mathematics.”

He deftly wrote the words on the board, as well as his own name. Then he turned and faced the class, hands behind his back. 

“Here,” he said, “you shall learn of the complex majesty of numbers. The logical beauty of geometry, and the fundamental language which describes the workings of the galaxy. Mathematics provides us the tools to describe how a planet moves around its star – or how a coin falls off a table. It can be used to create vast cathedrals, to track the behaviour of a hive’s population, or to predict the fall of a basilisk shell. Mathematics is as fundamental in the material world as belief is in the world of the Empyrean. In other classes, you shall learn how to understand the warp. Here, you shall learn to understand reality.”

He paused, and eyed the class with a sneer. “Or at least, you shall, if you are not all complete idiots,” he said. “I cannot say that my hopes are high.”

Then his gaze once again fell on Harrius. 

“You, boy,” he said.

Harrius almost jumped out of his seat in terror. “Yes, sir?” he said, swallowing.

“What is ninety-nine times sixteen?”

Harrius blinked at him. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been a maths question. Desperately, he tried to wrangle his brain to make sense of it – but he was too unprepared, too distracted. Everything he had ever known about multiplication vanished from his mind.

“S-sorry, Professor,” he said. “I don’t know.” 

Next to him, Hermione put up her hand. 

Snape ignored her, still focusing unblinkingly on Harrius. “Six hundred divided by eighteen?” he said.

Harrius’ mind continued to churn blankly. He felt like this one was just out of reach, like he should have known it, and cursed himself for not. Hermione’s hand inched higher. 

“Sorry,” Harrius said, “Um,”

“Do you know addition, perhaps?” Snape said. “What is two hundred and twenty-three plus four hundred and eighty-nine?”

“Um,” Harrius licked his lips, and finally forced his brain to cooperate. “Seven hundred and twelve!” he exclaimed. 

Snape looked at him for slightly too long, and Harrius became convinced he’d messed it up. But then Snape turned away. 

“C o r r e c t,” he said, and then picked up a stick of chalk. 

While Harrius tried his best to recover from his near heart-attack, Snape wrote out several blackboards’ worth of arithmetic problems at a frightening pace, rubbing off the old to write the new, damned be those who hadn’t finished getting them down. All the while, he dished out tricky questions when his students were least expecting it, to ‘test if they were paying attention’. 

Quite a few of these questions were targeted at Harrius. In fact, Harrius was certain that more questions were sent his way than anyone else. Every time he got one wrong, or didn’t know the answer, Draco would turn around in his chair and smirk. 

To make things even worse, Snape clearly favoured the Pyrae students – he asked them fewer questions, and the questions he asked were easy. A few times, he even awarded Pyrae House points for answering questions, while he never did for Raptora. The entire time, he also continued to ignore Hermione, despite the fact that her hand was up for almost every question.

By the end of the class, Harrius was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, while Hermione was absolutely fuming, and Ron looked like his soul had left his body and gone to some ninth-dimensional mathematical hell. Silently, all three of them left the class, and made their way towards the next. 

“He didn’t ask me a single question,” Hermione said angrily, once they were safely distanced from Snape. “I knew all of them! I’m good at maths! I was going to be an Administratum statistician!”

“Yeah?” Harrius said. “Well, I wish he asked you all the questions he asked me. He asked me…so many…”

“I know!” Hermione said. “It was so unfair!”

“I’d heard rumours that Snape was a nightmare,” Ron said. “But I didn’t realise HOW much of a nightmare!”

The next class was fortunately Fortitude, in which they didn’t have to pay a lot of attention to get by. After that was lunch, where they all sat and complained about Snape’s class some more. 

“He hates me,” Harrius said firmly. 

“I don’t think he likes anyone, to be honest,” Ron said. “Except his bloody Pyrae students, that is. Blatant favouritism! How’s it even allowed?” 

“No, you don’t understand,” Harrius said. “He REALLY hates me. You should have seen the look he gave me at the start of class – like I’d pushed his mum off a cliff!”

“Maybe you remind him of someone?” Ron said. “Or, maybe,” his eyes widened, “he and Draco are in cahoots!”

“Emperor protect me,” Harrius said. “If that’s the case, then I’m dead!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Hermione said. “There’s no way that’s true. I’m sure he just chose you to make an example of today, and next time, he’ll pick on someone else. It was just bad luck that he chose you for the first class.”

But she was wrong – Snape continued to pick on Harrius, just slightly more than everyone else, in every one of his classes. And from that day on, Harrius grew to dread Mathematics and everything it entailed.


	16. Dodgeball

“A joint Practical class?” Ron said incredulously. “With PYRAE??” 

It was lunch hour, and Harrius and his friends had been sitting peacefully at their usual table in the mess hall when Perseus appeared. Casually, he informed them that their afternoon Practical was in Gymnasium C – and that it was also a double class, with their least favourite House. 

This news was as surprising as it was unwelcome. They had never done a joint Practical before, and the idea of using their psychic powers in front of another House was extremely daunting, even without considering that the other House was Pyrae. 

Naturally, everyone was horrified at the prospect – although Perseus seemed surprised when the table erupted in dismay. 

“Quiet!” he barked. “I’ll have none of your whining and complaining! The joint Practicals are absolutely essential to your education!”

“But sir,” Ron said, “does it HAVE to be Pyrae?”

“Yes,” Perseus said. “It’s already been decided.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Perseus cut him off. “Pyrae may be a relentless, talented House, but this is an opportunity to show them that we are too – and to learn from their ways! It will be an important exchange of experiences! For Glory and the Emperor, Ronaldius. Are you going to cower away in fear, or are you going to rise to the challenge, and learn something for once?”

He glared at Ron. “Well?”

“Yes, sir,” Ron said. “I’ll make sure to exchange experiences with Pyrae, sir.”

“That is,” he added, as Perseus stalked away, “I’ll ‘exchange’ an ‘experience’ directly into their face!”

He held out his palm, and Harrius hi-fived it – although there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm in it. The thought of trying to concentrate on telekinesis while Draco was standing there and judging him was just SO unpleasant.

“Do you think we’ll actually get to throw things at Pyrae?” Ron continued. “What if we smuggled some old bits of fruit into the class? Or eggs?” 

“I’m SO sorry, Professor,” he put on a voice. “I have NO idea where the three-dozen gallus eggs appeared from. They must have materialised out of the warp!”

“But what if they throw things back?” Neville said, eyes wide. “And by things, I mean fire.”

“Fried eggs,” Ron said.

“Fried people, you mean!” Neville squeaked. 

“It’s fine, Neville,” Hermione said, patting his arm. “There’s no way Professor McGonagall would let the Pyrae students set anyone on fire.”

“I think you’re underestimating how much Draco wants to do that,” Harrius muttered.

The more he thought about being in the same room as Draco and his unleashed psychic powers, the more his stomach twisted into knots. Draco had made it exceedingly clear that he would dearly love to set Harrius on fire – and now, here was the perfect opportunity. McGonagall would only have to look away for a moment…

With extreme reluctance, he changed into his red gym shirt, and followed his classmates down to Gymnasium C. But once there, he saw not only half a dozen tutors and prefects, but a whole platoon of wardens standing about, and he felt slightly better. There was no way that Draco would try anything too drastic in front of so many witnesses.

The joint Practical was being run by Professor Hooch, but Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Binns were also there, as well as Perseus, and the Pyrae prefect, Markus. Harrius had never seen so many tutors in one class. Pyrae House was also already present, a cluster of green shirts at the far end of the gym. They all turned to glare as the Raptora students entered the room and formed their own cluster. 

After taking roll, Professor Hooch stepped into the very centre of the gym, between the two groups, and placed a foam ball and a mysterious box on the ground.

“Sanctionites!” she said. “Welcome to the first Joint Practical of the Phase – Raptora versus Pyrae!”

The first?” Ron whispered.

“Versus???” Harrius whispered back.

“In the Joint Practical,” Hooch said, “two Houses are pitted against each other in a simple game. The game itself will change each session, however the goal will remain the same – you are to beat the other House, using teamwork, strategy, and of course, your psychic talent.”

A murmur of excitement and apprehension arose from the students as they digested this news. 

“Now, the purpose of this class is twofold,” Hooch said. “On the one hand, it is an opportunity to learn. You will observe your rival House and see how they use their unique abilities. Each psyker approaches their art differently – and thus observing how others approach it is an excellent way to improve your own ability.”

“On the other hand,” she continued, “it is a class in the art of battle. There may be times in your future when you find yourself up against an enemy psyker – and it will be life or death, you or them. In this class, you will gain practice in defending against, and attacking, a psyker whose abilities are vastly different from your own.” 

Harrius felt his stomach drop, and he sent his friends a look of panic. This was bad! Draco was absolutely going to attack him, and he wouldn’t even get into trouble for it!

“Now,” Professor Hooch went on, “before you all get too worked up, I shall make it clear that we a are going to be starting off small. We do not expect you all to be trained battle psykers. And thus, the game we shall be playing today is something both simple, and harmless.”

She stooped and picked up the small foam ball. “I’m sure most of you have heard of dodgeball,” she said.

Harrius had not – but fortunately, Hooch immediately explained what it was. She demonstrated by throwing the foam ball at Perseus, who tried to catch it, fumbled, and then pretended he’d meant to do that. It got even better when Hooch then threw the ball at Markus, who caught it perfectly, and tossed it back with a smile. 

“Of course,” Hooch said, throwing the ball away over her shoulder. “We’re not playing dodgeball. Although our game is inspired by it.”

She then opened the mystery box, which turned out to be full of loose sheets of paper.

“Telekines,” she said, turning to Raptora and holding up a piece of paper. “Your goal is to get all of this paper…” she turned and pointed at the far end of the court “…through that hoop. You are allowed to alter the shape of the paper in any way you see fit – although the paper must remain whole. For each whole piece of paper you get through hoop, you get ONE POINT.”

She put the paper down, and turned to the Pyrae students. 

“For the pyromancers, your goal is to destroy the paper before it can be placed through the hoop,” she said. “You are permitted to use any means to destroy the paper, although you may only burn the paper if it is in the air – not on the ground, and absolutely not in a student’s hand. For each piece of paper you destroy, you will get ONE POINT.”

“As for the other rules,” she continued, “neither team is permitted to leave their own half of the court during the game. If you leave your area, you will be disqualified. Also, psychic powers ARE permitted during the game, but they are to be used on the paper, and the paper only. If I see anything other than paper in the air, or on fire, then I will be removing those responsible from the game immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor,” the students chorused.

“Excellent,” Hooch said. “Does anyone have any questions?”

A Pyrae student put up her hand. “Professor, the teams aren’t fair,” she said. “Raptora has a larger team than us. There are twenty-eight of them, and only twenty-six of us!”

“True,” Hooch said. “However, Pyrae’s goal is easier. Destroying paper is simpler than keeping it intact. If anything, Pyrae has the advantage! Any more questions?”

There weren’t, and Hooch grinned, picking up a piece of paper again. “A demonstration then!” she said. “Markus, would you do the honours?”

She moved to stand at the Raptora end of the court, while Markus moved to the opposite end. Then, Hooch balled up the paper, and tossed it lightly into the air. It sailed upwards, and then suddenly shot horizontally along the underside of the ceiling, before dunking neatly through the hoop.

“There,” she said. “Now, Markus…”

She threw a second ball of paper, only this time, half way through its unnatural trajectory, there was a bright flash and it burst into flame. In seconds, the paper was nothing but ash, which drifted gently downwards. 

“And there we have it,” Hooch grinned. “That’s the game!”

With no further fuss, the Raptora and Pyrae students spread out on across their ends of the gym, and Hooch handed a stack of papers to the Raptora team. “Good luck,” she said quietly. “Keep calm, remember your training, and focus on getting that paper through the hoop. It’s an uphill battle, but I believe you can beat ‘em. Remember not to push into the warp too hard or too fast – but if you do, the tutors and the wardens are here to put a stop to it. Oh, and by the way – the paper doesn’t have to be ball shaped.” She winked, and then left them to it. 

“What does that mean, they don’t have to be ball shaped?” Ron said miserably. 

Harrius didn’t respond. He was too busy eyeing Draco, who was grinning and cracking his knuckles across the gym. This was worse than he ever could have imagined. Not only was Draco allowed to set things on fire in his vicinity, he was going to be doing it in a distinctly aggressive fashion. Hooch had said that nothing but the paper should be set alight – but was Draco going to respect that particular rule?

There wasn’t time to fret about it, though. Hooch had her whistle poised near her mouth, and her arm was raised. “READY?” she yelled. “On my whistle, you may begin. Good luck everyone, and may the best House win!”

“PFWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!”

The gym erupted into total bedlam. Raptora students grabbed handfuls of paper and ran for the border of their court. Paper balls began flying through the air, some wobbling slowly, others zooming with great velocity, others thrown in an entirely non-psychic manner. One, two, four, eight, went through the hoop, to the cheers of Raptora.

Moments later though, Pyrae began to retaliate. With a crackle and a flash, the paper suddenly caught alight. Some rapidly burnt up, while other bits merely fizzled and smoked at the corners. The Pyrae students, who were apparently used to this sort of thing, barely reacted as ash and small pieces of flaming paper drifted down around them.

The Raptora students however were not used to fire raining down around them, and as the ash and flaming paper drifted into their court, they couldn’t help but retreat. The tide turned, as almost all of the paper balls were destroyed en-route to the hoop. Ten, fifteen, twenty points went to Pyrae.

Eventually realising that just throwing as many paper balls as they could and hoping for the best wasn’t going so well, Raptora retreated, and huddled together to talk strategy.

“So, this clearly isn’t working,” Ron said. “At this rate, they’re just burning down anything we fling at them.”

“Ok, but how else are we supposed to get past them?” Dean groaned. “They’re really good!”

“Yeah, plus our job is harder,” Lavender put in. “We have to control the ball the entire way, but they just have to touch it once with their fire, and that’s it! It seems unfair!”

“Well, that’s what Professor Hooch said,” Parvati said. “There are more of us, but their job is easier.”

“Their job is TOO easy,” Seamus grumbled. “Paper is so flammable! Why couldn’t we have used something else?”

“Well,” Hermione said. “Maybe we need to make their job harder.”

Everyone looked at her. 

“Yes?” Ron said.

“O-OK,” Hermione said. “As Parvati mentioned, there are more of us than there are of them – so first of all, we should all launch our paper at once, rather than throwing them randomly. This will make it much harder for them to get ALL of the paper. Even if they all concentrate on one paper each, some will get through.”

“Yeah, two,” Ron said. “Not exactly a winning strategy, is it?”

“Perhaps,” Hermione said. “But that’s why we should also put a little more effort into our paper balls…”

With all eyes on her, she took a piece of paper, and crouched down. Deftly, she folded the paper, and folded it again, smoothing out each crease, and then lifting the paper for everyone to see.

“This is a paper plane,” she said. “We made them all the time back at home. It’s more aerodynamically shaped than a blob, which means…”

She turned, and then threw the plane, boosting it psychically as she did so. The plane shot with incredible speed through the air, dipping suddenly at the last second to swish neatly through the hoop. The Pyrae students yelled in surprise. The paper plane caught on fire, but too late – one point was awarded to Raptora.

The Raptora students cheered, and turned back to Hermione, and several people patted her on the back. “Yeah, Administratum!” Ron yelled.

Hermione blushed a little, but hid it by grabbing more paper and crouching again. “Here, follow what I do,” she said. “Everyone make a plane. And then, we all throw them together.”

Thus the next phase of the fight began. Armed with planes of various makes, and with a new sense of teamwork, the Raptora students stood in a loose formation, and on Ron’s scream of “GO YA BASTARDS!” they let loose. Nearly thirty paper planes shot into the air and tried their darndest to get through the hoop. Some of the Pyrae students screamed as the rain of aerodynamic paper came down towards them. And although paper still burst into flame left, right, and centre, a lot more of it made it through the hoop unscathed than last time.

After the first barrage, the Pyrae students knew what to expect – but Raptora was learning as well. Hermione had several designs of plane up her sleeve, and she quickly taught the others. The planes grew fancier, and the students grew trickier, working together to create decoys, or fly in unpredictable patterns, or dive directly at Pyrae students as a distraction.

Pyrae’s responded by setting up traps – sudden walls of fire which burst into life and then vanished, or pockets of energized air which would mess with a plane’s flight path when it passed through. A few times, they set a trap up too close to the hoop, and one of the tutors blew a whistle, getting them to move it. 

“As much as I commend your strategic thinking, that’s just unsportsmanlike,” Professor Hooch told Draco, as he tetchily moved his fire trap out of the actual mouth of the hoop. “Battle must be accompanied by a modicum of respect for the enemy! Only xenos and heretics fight with no honour!”

As the stack of paper began to run low however, to Raptora’s dismay, they still hadn’t been able to overcome the initial lead which Pyrae had gained. As it stood, it was Raptora 98 to Pyrae 120. And unless Raptora came up with something new, that margin wasn’t likely to get a lot smaller. 

Harrius all this time had been concentrating on getting each paper plane though the hoop, one by one – and he hadn’t been doing too badly. His speed was nigh unmatched, his fine control had gotten better in recent classes – and around two thirds of his planes were getting successfully through.

On top of this, he was pretty good at predicting where the temperature traps were and avoiding them. If he concentrated, he felt he could almost see them, prickling like static at the back of his eyeballs. 

Unfortunately, his high slam-dunk-to-burn ratio meant that more and more of the Pyrae students were specifically watching out for his planes and attacking them. One of these students was Draco – who unfortunately, was a very skilled pyromancer. He was both accurate, and extremely fast, causing almost any plane he turned his gaze upon to burn away in seconds, often right after it left the hand of whoever threw it. In fact, much to his obvious irritation, the only planes he was not able to destroy every time were Harrius’.

“How are you doing that?” Ron asked Harrius incredulously, as Harrius dodged yet another of Draco’s lightning-fast attacks, and dunked his plane through the hoop. 

“Dunno,” Harrius said, grabbing his next piece of paper and beginning to fold it. “I can sort of, feel where he’s about to target, I guess. Can’t you feel it? It’s like, a sort of itchy feeling, right where the fire is about to appear.”

“What?” Ron said. “No, I can’t feel that! What are you talking about??”

“Uhhh,” Harrius said. “You can’t?”

“Nope, that’s just you!”

Harrius stared at Ron, and as he did so, he suddenly remembered that he’d almost been sorted into Pyrae House, back at the start of the Phase. He’d been so overwhelmed with new information at the time, that the significance of it had been somewhat lost on him. But now, he had more context, and his eyes widened. 

“Holy Emperor!” he said, and smacked himself in the forehead. “I forgot! Apparently, I’m actually part pyromancer!”

“Excuse me???” Ron said. 

“I’m,” Harrius thought for a second, “I’m a pyrokine! Professor Flitwick told me ages ago! But I guess it never really came up until…until now…”

Ron, as well as several of the other nearby students were gawking at him, and he trailed off, his ears going a little red. But then, Ron grinned. 

“Mate,” he said. “Do you realise what this means?”

“Uhhh,” Harrius said.

“It means we have a secret weapon!” Ron said. “And those Pyrae suckers are going down! HEY EVERYONE, GROUP HUDDLE!”

“Wha-” Harrius protested, as Ron pushed him into the centre of the rapidly forming huddle. “I don’t-”

“Listen up, Raptorans!” Ron said, ignoring his friend. “It turns out that Harrius here is some sort of pyrokine prodigy! He can SEE where the fire is about to appear! That’s what you said, right?”

“Um,” Harrius said. “Y-yes.”

“Awesome,” Ron said. “So, obviously, we’re going to exploit the heck out of that.”

“What?” Hermione said. “Is that allowed? I mean, Harrius, that’s really cool that you can do that – but also, wouldn’t it count as cheating?”

“I don’t think so,” Ron said. “He’s on our team, isn’t he? Why shouldn’t he use his natural gifts? And anyway, he’s not going to counter-summon fire or anything – he’s just going to tell us where the traps are!”

“Am I?” Harrius said. “I mean, I-I can try, but there’s only so many things I can tell you guys at once...”

“Just tell us about the big ones!” Ron said. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Harrius said. “Alright.”

After ironing out more details of their latest plan, Raptora broke their huddle, and armed themselves with a fresh batch of paper planes – all except Harrius, who instead stood in the middle of the court, and eyed the minefield ahead. He could already sense several of the temperature traps, and as the students around him raised their arms to throw, he focused deeper.

As if in slow motion, he heard Ron yell “GO!”, and he saw the barrage of planes launch around him. He felt each student as they reached out to the warp and took control of their plane’s motion. Before him, he felt the Pyrae students reaching as well, and he felt the static intensify. 

“Middle centre, fire wall!” he yelled. “Far left corner, trap! Centre right, trap! Two metres above the hoop, trap!”

His directions were rushed and vague – but they were working. The wall of fire roared to life, and took out exactly zero planes. Most of the traps were entirely avoided, and although individual planes were still taken down, a much larger percentage of planes made it through the hoop. Raptora cheered wildly as their score shot upwards. For the first time, they had made a solid headway, closing in on Pyrae. A few more rounds like this, and victory would be firmly in their grasp…

“PFWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!”

Raptora abruptly fell silent as Professor Hooch waved at them from the side of the court. She was looking at Harrius, and he felt his stomach drop. 

“Harrius,” Hooch said a moment later. “What in the name of Holy Celestine was that?”

“Uhhhhhhhh,” Harrius said, sweating. 

“I told you it was cheating!” Hermione hissed from behind him.

“You’re not in trouble,” Hooch said. “I would just like to know what you did. I haven’t seen a move like that for quite some time, especially not by someone your age.”

“Uh…well, I…you see,” Harrius fumbled. 

Fortunately, Professor McGonagall came to his rescue. She approached Hooch and whispered something in her ear. Hooch raised an eyebrow, and then held up a hand to the students. 

“Excuse us for a second,” she said. “The game is paused. No one is to use any psychic powers until I say so.”

She turned to converse inaudibly with Professors McGonagall and Snape. While this went on, every student in the gym turned to look at Harrius. Red faced, he stared at the floor, and wished he was somewhere else.

After what felt like ten thousand years, Professor Hooch turned back to the class. 

“Alright,” she said. “Harrius, we’ve decided that your actions, although unusual, are within the rules of the game, so long as your pyro abilities are used passively only. After all, adapting to changes on the battlefield, and utilising whatever strengths are available, are two important skills which we only encourage here!”

“However,” she added, “you are to stay back after the game, and arrange private pyromancy lessons with Professor Snape. Alright?”

“Y-yes, Professor,” Harrius said. He was acutely aware of the Pyrae students, who were whispering amongst themselves and staring with expressions ranging from shocked to furious. Draco looked like he’d been struck by lightning. 

“Good,” Hooch said. “Then we may resume.”

The rest of the game went by in a blur. Harrius acted as a pyromancy radar for the rest of the team, and Pyrae tried their best to counter it. But with some of their main defence strategies compromised, there was nothing Pyrae could do to stop Raptora. And soon the game ended, with Pyrae at 145, and Raptora at 156. 

When Hooch blew the whistle to officially end the game, the Raptora students exploded in excitement, jumping up and down, hugging or amiably punching each other, and screaming incoherently. Ron did a lap of the court with his shirt over his head, while Dean and Seamus hoisted Harrius up on their shoulders, yelling in glee. Pyrae meanwhile glared daggers, and a few of them spat bitterly on the floor.

“Now, now,” Professor Hooch said, trying her best not to grin. “Calm down, children. That was an excellent first match, for both teams! Each side was thinking strategically and working together – and everyone’s power control was excellent! Exactly what I love to see! I shall award 50 House points to each team, plus an additional 10 points to Raptora for their spectacular win!”

In high spirits, the Raptora students left Gymnasium C in a loud, chattering group – and Harrius reluctantly watched them go. He wanted nothing more than to join in their revelry – but first, he had to talk to Snape.

He stood by the door and shuffled his feet, until Professor Snape approached. The tutor’s expression was unreadable, and Harrius shrunk in on himself, half expecting a barrage of maths questions.  
But instead, Snape just handed him a small piece of paper. It was a note, in Snape’s scrawling, spidery font. 

“This note shall excuse you from your Saturday morning education activities,” Snape said. “You shall instead spend that time learning the noble art of pyromancy. Your tutor shall be Markus Flint.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “Prefect Markus?”

“Yes,” Snape said. “He shall contact you to arrange a location for the lesson. Do you have any questions?”

“No questions,” Harrius said. “Thank you, Professor!”

Snape only gave a slight sneer in response, and then swept out the door. Watching him go, Harrius breathed a sigh of relief. Then he looked down at his note, and he grinned. He’d been terrified that Snape himself would be running the private pyromancy class – the thought of spending several hours per week with no-one but Snape for company was absolutely horrible. 

But instead, he would be tutored by Markus, the friendly jock who had been helping with the dodgeball match – and suddenly, Harrius was looking forward to the classes. A huge grin creeping across his face, he started back towards the mess hall, where his triumphant friends and a warm dinner awaited. The day had turned out extraordinarily well. 

At the door he paused, and looked out at the sunset, savouring the feeling. The horizon was brilliant in hazy reds and golds, and above, a quarter-moon drifted through wispy clouds, its dark side spangled with tiny points of light.

“Things are looking up, Augustus,” he said quietly to himself. “It was really hard for a while – I wasn’t sure I could do it. But…maybe I can? Maybe, everything’s going to turn out fine after all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since multi-class psykers will probably come up in future chapters with no in-text explanation, here is the list of multi-class titles I came up with:
> 
> Telepath + Telekine = Telekith   
> Telepath + Biomancer = Biopath  
> Telepath + Pyromancer = Pyropath   
> Telepath + Divineer = Divipath  
> Telekine + Biomancer = Biokine  
> Telekine + Pyromancer = Pyrokine   
> Telekine + Divineer = Divikine   
> Biomancer + Pyromancer = Biopyron  
> Biomancer + Divineer = Bioneer   
> Pyromancer + Divineer = Pyroneer
> 
> There are also psykers who have an affinity for more than two classes, but they are rare, extremely powerful, and referred to by their power rank rather than their affinities.


	17. The Diary

Harrius spent all week looking forward to his first pyromancy class. When Saturday morning finally arrived, he shot out of bed, and wolfed down breakfast at twice his usual speed. 

Markus had arranged to meet at Snape’s classroom at 09:00, but Harrius was ready well before that. Impatiently, he sat in the mess hall and watched the numbers of digital clock tick forwards, until there was only ten minutes to go. Then, as his friends waved goodbye and headed down to the gym for Saturday Morning Fitness, he raced up the stairs, two at a time, and skidded to a stop outside Snape’s classroom. 

Markus wasn’t there yet, and the door was locked. After rattling the handle a few times, Harrius pressed his face against the window, eyeing the desks, spotless blackboard, and stacks of mathematical textbooks. 

Usually, this classroom held only dread for him, but today he couldn’t wait to be in there. Would Markus teach him how to set things on fire right away? That was what pyromancy was all about, wasn’t it? What if he were to ‘accidentally’ set one of Snape’s books on fire? How angry would Snape get? How many House points would he lose, and more importantly, would it be worth it?

As he stared at the books in the classroom and contemplated arson, he noticed a book which looked distinctly out of place. It was a small, tatty thing, sitting by itself on one of the front row desks. The cover was brown and worn, and there was a tiny blue ribbon poking out between the pages. Harrius could not see a title anywhere.

The more he looked at it, the more Harrius knew that it wasn’t a textbook like the others. It looked more like a work journal, or maybe a personal diary. But what was it doing there? Who did it belong to? Harrius wished the door was unlocked so he could have a closer look.

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching, and he turned around, hands innocently behind his back. He was expecting Markus – but instead, a much larger person came around the corner. It was Hagrid, the half-Ogryn janitor.

Hagrid spotted Harrius a second later, and abruptly came to a stop. “‘ello there,” she said with a grin. “I remember you! You’re that boy who got lost that one time.”

“Hi Hagrid,” Harrius said, grinning back. “How’s Norbet?”

“He’s good,” Hagrid gently patted the lump in one of her pockets. “I jus’ gave him a bit o’ fruit, so he’s happy. How’re you? And,” she frowned slightly, “what’re you doin’ up here? Aren’t you s’posed to be outside with the others?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh no – you’re lost again!”

“No, I’m not lost!” Harrius said quickly. “I’ve got a special class, actually. Prefect Markus is going to teach me how to be a pyromancer!”

“That right?” Hagrid said. “That’s the one where…” She made explosion noises and wiggled her fingers. “Right?”

“Um, yeah,” Harrius said.

Hagrid nodded. “Well, you’re lucky have Markus teach yer,” she said. “He’s a good ‘un. Not like that Perseus, eh?” She winked at Harrius, who grinned back. 

“Anyways,” she went on. “if yer not lost, then I’ll leave yer be. See yer around kid!”

“Wait!” Harrius said, as she made to leave. “Do…do you have the key to this room? It’s locked, and um, I’m supposed to meet Markus in there...”

Hagrid blinked. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” she said. “I’ve got all the keys. Want me ter open it for yer?”

Harrius nodded, his face carefully neutral. 

Hagrid reached into another of her giant pockets and pulled out an equally giant keyring. It had dozens and dozens of keys on it, large and small, silver and gold, and it clinked noisily as she thumbed through it. 

“‘ere we are,” she said, selecting a small silver key. Harrius watched with interest as she inserted it into the lock and deftly twisted it. 

“That’s a lot of keys,” he said, eyeing the massive ring. “What do they open?”

“What DON’T they open?” Hagrid chuckled. She showed Harrius the ring. “See – these are all the first-floor keys,” she said, pinching off a section. “And these are the second-floor, third-floor, fourth-floor, etcetera. And those are for the ground floor, and the basement. Neat, huh?”

“The basement?” Harrius said. “Where’s that?”

“Well, under the ground floor, obviously. Where else would yer put a basement?”

“I’ve never seen the basement,” Harrius said. 

“Well, no,” Hagrid said. “Sanctionites aren’t allowed down there.”

“Why not? What’s down there?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Hagrid said, a little too quickly. “Jus’ maintenance stuff. Garbage disposal, ‘n’ the boiler room ‘n’ such. Bunch o’ mops and cleaning gear. Nothin’ that would interest yer.”

Harrius gave her a questioning look – but Hagrid seemed to have decided she’d said too much, as she quickly put the keys away, and stepped back. 

“Right, well, nice seein’ yer,” she said. “I must be off! Those windows won’t polish themselves!” 

She hurried away, and Harrius frowned after her. Was there something in the basement which Hagrid wasn’t supposed to talk about?

It was an intriguing mystery. But then, so was the old diary which was now sitting within Harrius’ reach. Grinning at his own luck, Harrius went into Snape’s classroom, and made a beeline for the strange book. 

Up close, it was even more out of place. It was older and more decrepit than Harrius had first thought – its pages were wavy and water-damaged, and the spine was partially peeling away. A lot of what Harrius had assumed to be grime were actually burn marks, as though someone had dropped the book in a fire, but then fished it out before it could be destroyed.

The book had clearly been through the wringer – and it exuded an almost palpable aura of intrigue. Harrius, however, hesitated before opening it. It looked very fragile, as though it would disintegrate at the slightest touch. And there was a part of him which was insisting that he shouldn’t read it – it was someone’s private diary and prying was wrong, and besides there was something, something slightly off about it…

But Harrius silenced his doubts, and reached for the book. Carefully, he opened the cover, and leaned in to look at the first page. The faint smell of smoke, mould, and something else unpleasant, wafted up to meet him. 

Someone had written a note there, in a large, childlike script. It was faded, but still clearly legible:

THIS DIARY IS THE PROPERTY OF JOSIE LEVITICUS.  
DON’T READ MY DAIRY!!!!!!! IF YOU READ MY DAIRY I -WILL- KNOW.  
MAISIE, THIS MEANS YOU!!!!!!!!!!!

Harrius sat and stared at the writing, and stared some more, and frown slowly set across his features. The more he stared and the more he frowned, the more the hair rose on the back of his neck. 

That name – he knew that name. Josie Leviticus, it was familiar. At first, he couldn’t remember where from – after all, it had been several months, and a lifetime’s worth of experience ago. But then it came to him in a flash – Josie Leviticus was the witch from Augustus’ tale. The witch who had lost her mind, murdered her family, and caused the deaths of dozens of others.

Harrius hadn’t thought about the story since leaving Halos – but now, he found it even more disturbing now than he had when he first heard it. When Augustus told the story, the concept of witches had been distant and foreign, something which would never actually affect his life. But now, he was a witch himself, and the story had a whole new horrible context.

What exactly had happened to Josie Leviticus? Harrius had been told over and over that reaching too far into the warp was dangerous, but he hadn’t really had a named example to consider. Had the warp really broken Josie so badly, that she’d murdered her sisters, and painted their blood across the walls? 

He backed away from the book, eyeing it suspiciously. It was a thoroughly creepy coincidence to find a book with the same name as a witch from his homeworld. Harrius briefly considered that it was the same person – but it seemed too far-fetched. There was no way that the diary of a long-dead Halosian witch-child could make its way to Terra. Was there?

No, he told himself. There must be another Sanctionite here, with the same name. A coincidence, and nothing more. The name is not that uncommon. 

Taking a breath to calm himself, he stepped forward and reached out to flip the cover closed again. But as his finger brushed the worn surface, he felt something – a bizarre twist in reality, like the dimensions of the room had just shifted imperceptibly. And on the surface of the book, a large wrinkle twitched, and formed into a smiling human mouth.

“Hello!” the mouth said, in the voice of a girl.

Harrius screamed, and shoved the book away from him. It bounced off the wall, and landed on the floor, open at its centre. Adrenaline stabbing through his chest, Harrius scrambled back to the safety of the doorway, ready to flee if the book did anything else.

He could see the open pages, and although he was too far away to read it, he could see that the writing was bright red in colour, and glistening as if wet.

“Don’t be afraid,” the girl said, her voice slightly muffled. “I won’t hurt you! I’m just a girl in a book! It’s not that strange! Come back! If you like, you can read me, and I’ll tell you all my secrets!”

Harrius, who was mostly outside the room, stayed firmly where he was. No matter what the book said, he didn’t trust it. Books weren’t supposed to say anything, as far as he knew. 

“Why won’t you come back and read me?” the book said sadly. “Please, read me! I can teach you the secrets of power and knowledge! Imagine what you could do, with infinite knowledge? You could change the galaxy. You could change everything!”

Slowly, Harrius reached out, grasped the door handle, and quietly pulled the door closed. The voice was cut off and he let out a small sigh. His pulse was still racing, but at least it looked like the book wasn’t about to sprout legs and chase him.

He turned and slumped against the wall – and then jumped in shock when Markus suddenly came around the corner. 

“Hey, man,” Markus said, with a friendly wave. “Sorry I’m late! I got stuck in a conversation with one of the Professors, and you know how they are.”

He paused, eyeing Harrius with a look of concern.

“Hey…are you alright?” 

“Um,” Harrius said.

He wasn’t, but he also had no idea how to explain what had just happened. Cautiously, he peered in through the window again, to where the book was still lying on the floor. 

“There’s a creepy book in there,” he said. 

Markus raised an eyebrow. “A creepy book? What do you mean?”

He joined Harrius at the window, craning his neck to see what Harrius was pointing at. 

“You mean the maths textbooks?” he asked, and grinned. “They ARE pretty scary, I’ll give you that.”

“No,” Harrius said. “It’s that weird old diary, on the floor there! I think it belonged to this old witch from Halos! That’s my homeworld. And, uh, when I say old, I mean she died a while ago, but she was actually still a kid… Um…anyway I think she’s not actually dead after all, she’s still alive, and trapped inside that book! Although, I don’t know how she got in there. Or how she’s on Terra, or anything. It doesn’t make sense!”

“Yeah…” Markus said, giving Harrius a sideways look. “That book on the floor, you say? Let’s see…”

Ignoring Harrius’ protests, he opened the door and moved to the front, coming to a stop before the book. He frowned down at the open pages for a long moment, before stooping to pick it up. 

“This book?” he said, waving it at Harrius. “You’re right, it does look pretty old and creepy! But I think it’s just some kid’s diary.”

“What?” Harrius said. “But…it’s written in blood!”

Markus raised an eyebrow again, and glanced down at the book, flipping through the pages. “Nope,” he said. “It’s red wax-stick! You know, those sticks children draw with? Nothing to worry about!”

“O-oh,” Harrius said. “But…but it was talking earlier! That’s definitely weird! Books don’t normally talk, do they?”

“Not normally, no,” Markus said, still flipping though the pages. “What did it tell you?”

“It said that I should read it. And that it would, uhh, teach me infinite knowledge!”

Markus chuckled, and looked at Harrius. “That definitely sounds like something a book would say!”

“What?” Harrius said. “No…you have to believe me! I’m not making stuff up! It had…it had a mouth and everything!”

“Strange indeed,” Markus said, and he placed the book down on the same desk where Harrius had found it. “If you like, I can report it to Professor Snape?” 

“Um,” Harrius eyed him. Markus was not taking this as seriously as he’d hoped, and it was undermining his certainty. He’d been sure there was blood in the diary’s pages – but maybe wax made sense? And if Markus didn’t think a talking book was an emergency – then maybe it wasn’t?

“Yes,” he said eventually. “Tell Snape, please. And…can we please move to a different room maybe?”

“Of course!” Markus said, looking around. “I was going to suggest that anyway! There was meant to be a warden assigned to this room, but they seem to have gotten lost. Let’s go and find one, shall we? And a new room!”

“OK,” Harrius said.

Feeling confused and disheartened, he watched Markus close and lock the door, and then followed him down the hall. Despite Markus’ apparent lack of concern, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d witnessed something truly bizarre and potentially dangerous.

There was no feasible way that a dead witch from Halos was both alive and on Terra, albeit trapped inside a book – but what other explanation was there? Harrius didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Mostly, he wished the entire morning had gone differently. 

***

Distracted as he was, Harrius’ pyromancy lesson did not progress far – although it was still very interesting. Markus was a patient, cheerful tutor, and he explained things well. Harrius watched as the prefect demonstrated his psychic ability by lighting a series of matches, one by one.

Harrius attempted to do the same, but he struggled to find the sense of calm necessary to manipulate the warp. He managed to accidentally levitate the matches a few times, much to his own frustration, but he couldn’t quite get them to catch on fire. Markus was nice about it though, and insisted that Harrius had definitely raised the temperature of the wood by a few degrees.

Harrius didn’t come away from the class empty-handed, though. He learnt a lot about pyromancy as a discipline – and that, while similar in many ways to telekinesis, it was completely different in other ways. 

Pyromancy was all about the control and flow of energy and heat. In a practical sense, it started out the same as telekinesis, in that a pyromancer would reach into the warp and grasp the warp-shadow of their target object. But instead of dragging the object around by its warp-shadow, as a telekine would, the pyromancer would instead cause the warp-shadow to vibrate, which would in turn cause the real object to start to heat up. A skilled pyromancer could use this to move heat around wherever they pleased, essentially causing any object or area in space to heat up, or even cool down. 

The cause-and-effect of moving heat around was more complex than Harrius was used to. With telekinesis, it was easy to predict what would happen – push pencil left, and pencil fly left. But a pyromancer had to be a lot more careful. A heated area would also cause the areas around it to heat up – you couldn’t just leave an object to sit at one-thousand degrees, and expect it to not burn or melt through everything around it.

Harrius found that he now had to pay attention to things such as thermal conductivity, heat capacity, and the points at which various substances melted, boiled, solidified, or burst into flame. Pyromancy, it seemed, was inherently more dangerous and harder to control than telekinesis and required more theory in order to use safely.

Harrius was fine with the extra theory though, if it meant he could learn a whole new psychic discipline. At the end of class, he gladly agreed to meet Markus again the following Saturday.

As he headed down to the mess hall for lunch though, he found himself still thinking more about the talking diary than the lesson. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was extremely important and dangerous – and he contemplated going to one of the professors about it, in case Markus forgot to.

But he was still unsure about the whole thing, and so he decided to at least ask his friends about it first. Maybe talking books were a thing? After all, it hadn’t been so long ago that the concept of lighting a match with nothing but his mind would have been completely alien and terrifying to him as well.

On finding his friends though, he discovered that other things had been happening while he’d been away.

Ever since the joint Practical earlier in the week, the first-phase Pyrae and Raptora Sanctionites had been at war. Pyrae were salty that they’d lost, and Raptora had not exactly been gracious winners. The two Houses would go out of their way to flick food at each other in the mess hall, or jeer at and insult each other if they passed in the corridors. Several fights had broken out between students, and although no-one had gotten any more injured than a bloody nose, it did nothing to help reduce the tension.

That morning, Neville had become the latest casualty in the war. He had been walking back from the bathroom when he’d been jumped by a group of Pyrae students – one of which had been Draco, Harrius was disgusted to hear. 

Neville, although physically fine, was looking shaken, and his eyes were wet with tears. “They took him,” he sniffed woefully. “They took Trevor!”

The group of concerned Raptora students surrounding Neville all shook their heads or scoffed in outrage. Most of them knew that Trevor was Neville’s lucky stuffed toy – a small, ugly reptilian animal with huge bulging eyes and a round belly. It was made of some sort of rubbery yellow material, with a clear plastic stripe across its back, and was both unpleasant to look at, and to touch. In fact, it looked like it was literally made from bits of cobbled-together plastic trash. 

Neville had brought it with him all the way from his homeworld though, and he kept it on his person most, if not literally all, of the time, getting upset if it was out of his reach. Many of the other Raptora students had made fun of him for it in the past, or even temporarily stolen it off him just to see him get upset. 

But this time, the Pyraes had stolen it, and that was an entirely different matter. 

“Obviously, we’re going to get it back,” Ron said, while others nodded in agreement. “We’re not just going to stand back and watch the Pyraes steal Trevor from under our noses!”

“Absolutely not!” Seamus said, pounding his fist on the table.

“Don’t you worry, Neville,” Ron continued, “we’ll rescue your yellow frog if it’s the last thing we do!” 

“Down with Pyrae! Up with Trevor!” Dean chanted.

Harrius had just arrived, but he was already on board. This time, Pyrae had gone too far! Shortly, he, along with a sizable group of other Raptora kids, headed determinedly towards the Pyrae table.

Pyrae saw them coming, and a few of them stood up, moving into a defensive knot. Draco was at the centre, still sitting, and casually eating a piece of fruit. He continued to do so as he turned to face the incoming trouble.

“Afternoon, toast-heads,” Ron said, folding his arms and glaring around at the Pyraes. “we’ve just received news of your latest crime. That is, the theft of one Trevor, a yellow frog belonging to Neville. How to you plead to this accusation?”

The Pyrae students looked at each other, and some of them looked to Draco. The blonde boy meanwhile eyed Ron up and down, and finished his bite of fruit. 

“Guilty,” he said eventually. “We absolutely stole that rediculous thing.”

He paused, and narrowed his eyes. 

“What are you going to do about it?” he said.

“You want to find out?” Seamus said, stepping forwards. Several of the other Raptoras did the same, and the Pyrae students bristled in response. Draco, however, was unphased. 

“Here’s what I think,” he said. “I think you’ll do nothing.”

“Oh?” Ron said. “How do you figure that?”

“Because,” Draco said, “we’re being watched.” His eyes flicked sideways, to where the Pavoni prefect was fixing herself a cup of recaf. Then his eyes flicked the other way, to where a row of wardens were standing silently against the wall.

“If you start a fight,” Draco said, “then you will be the ones who get into trouble. We were just defending ourselves.”

“But you started it,” Dean said. “When you stole from us!”

“Oh, and you think they’ll care that Neville lost his widdle baby-toy?” Draco sneered.

Seamus tried to lunge forwards, but Ron grabbed him. Some of the Pyrae students laughed, but the Raptora students could only stand there and fume.

Then, Hermione stepped forwards. 

“We’ll both get into trouble,” she said. 

“What?” Draco eyed her with an expression of distain. 

“Just as they won’t care that Neville lost his ‘toy’,” Hermione said, “they also won’t care that you were ‘only defending yourself’. If they see a fight, then they will punish everyone involved. Probably fifty House points, maybe even more! Maybe one hundred!”

“And?” Draco said. “Where are you going with this?”

“Neither of us want to lose that many points,” Hermione said. “In fact, both our Houses have lost enough points this week already, because of this ridiculous feud. We’ve both dropped below Pavoni, and we’re well below Corvidae. And now, here we are again, fighting over a soft toy.”

“Again,” Draco said, “where are you going?”

“I’ll tell you,” Hermione said. “While I personally am against fighting, there are several knuckleheads in Raptora who are perfectly happy to jump in and start punching at a moment’s notice. Their pride is also at stake here – and they are not going to let a little thing like House points get in their way. So, my question to you is this. How many points are YOU willing to lose over Neville’s soft-toy?”

There was a tense silence – and then Draco rolled his eyes. 

“We don’t even have the stupid thing anymore,” he said. 

“Oh? Then where is it?” Ron said carefully, still holding onto Seamus.

“In the trash,” Draco said. ‘Where it belongs.”

“Where?” Ron demanded. “Which trash chute?”

“Oh, I don’t remember exactly which one,” Draco shrugged. “I just dumped it in passing. But it was on the first floor, near Flitwick’s classroom, if you really want to go and get it. You’d better hurry, though! They flush the chutes at 13:00.”

There was a pause, and then as one, the Raptora students all turned to look at the enormous digital clock over the door to the mess hall. It read 12:43.

“Crap!” Ron said. “Draco – if you’re lying about this, I’m going to kill you!”

Then he, and most of the others, bolted for the door.

Harrius, however, did not move – and neither did Hermione. 

“Is it really in the trash?” Harrius said. 

Draco cracked a grin at him. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Why would I want to keep it? Honestly, I didn’t expect anyone to come and get it. If I’d known, then maybe I WOULD have kept it, as a hostage. But this is even better! Just imagine – all of Raptora House, frantically digging through the garbage!”

He laughed, and other Pyraes joined in, miming digging through trash chutes, and placing fruit peels on their heads. Harrius and Hermione looked at each other in disgust, and made to leave. 

“The best part is,” Draco continued, “they’re too late!”

“What?” Harrius said, turning back.

“I did lie about one part,” Draco said, grinning like a fiend. “I said the trash chutes are flushed at 13:00. But they’re actually flushed at midday! Which means it’s already too late. The toy is already long gone!”

He laughed again, while Harrius stared at him in dismay.

“Come on,” Hermione said to Harrius. “Let’s go. We can’t do anything.”

“That’s right, off you go!” Draco called after them. “Go on, dig through the trash with your buddies, dirt boy!”

Gales of laughter followed them as they made their way out of the hall, and went upstairs to inform the others of the futility of their hunt. Solemnly, they passed on the news – and in a cloud of defeat, the group trundled up to the common room. 

“I’m sorry, Neville,” Ron said, slumping into one of the chairs. “We tried our best – but they beat us this time, well and truly.”

“It’s fine,” Neville said, although his lip trembled as he said so. “Thanks for trying.”

Remembering Draco’s smug expression while the other Pyraes mimed digging through trash, Harrius sighed in frustration.

“Is there nothing else we can do?” he said. 

“Nope,” Ron said, staring up at the ceiling. “The garbage was definitely flushed. There’s no way we’ll ever get it again now.”

“Why not?” Harrius said. “Where does the garbage go when its flushed, anyway?”

“Probably some sort of incinerator,” Ron said. 

“Actually, it wouldn’t directly go to an incinerator,” Hermione said. “That would be a significant fire hazard. Imagine if someone were to accidentally pour a flammable liquid into the chute? As soon as it flushed, it would drip down into the incinerator, and the fire would spread up the drip line, and set everything alight.”

“So, a pre-incinerator room, then,” Ron said. “A trash pit. A garbage sorting room. Whatever it is, we don’t know where it is, even if it does exist!”

“Wait a minute,” Harrius said.

His tone of excitement caused his friends to look up. Harrius grinned at everyone.

“There IS a garbage room,” he said. “And I know where it is! It’s in the basement!”

“The basement?” Ron said. “Where’s that?”

“Well, obviously,” Harrius grinned, “it’s under the ground floor. Where else would you put a basement?”


	18. Operation: Trevor

Unfortunately, knowing there was a basement and knowing exactly where it was, were two different things. So, despite spending the rest of lunch searching the ground floor for doors marked ‘Basement’, Harrius and his friends were unable to find it.

Harrius wasn’t going to give up that easily though. He knew the basement was there somewhere – Hagrid had definitely mentioned it and had no reason to lie. He figured that all he had to do was find Hagrid again, and convince her to tell him where it was.

This plan, however, was easier said than done. Hagrid had no discernible schedule and could go anywhere in the entire Branch H complex, including floors forbidden to Harrius. On top of that, Harrius wasn’t sure how to get her to talk about the basement again without raising her suspicions. 

It was worth a shot though – and he spent the rest of the day looking for the giant janitor. Ron helped, as did Hermione, and Neville, although Hermione was reluctant to break any rules, and Neville seemed convinced that the plan would never work. Still, they all took long detours on their way to their scheduled activities, passing through as many corridors as possible, and peering into empty classrooms or down stairwells.

Then, as they were heading down to the mess hall for dinner, Ron happened to look out the window, and spotted Hagrid in the yard below. He nudged Harrius, and pointed. Without another word, they both peeled away from the Raptora group and sprinted downstairs.

Hagrid looked up in surprise when they burst out into the yard and ran to intercept her. She was holding a large box of tools, which she placed carefully on the ground, before wiping her hands on her slacks. 

“Well, ‘ello,” she said. “What’re yer up to, running around like all the hordes o’ Ghazghkull are after yer?”

Harrius and Ron glanced at each other. “You say it,” Ron whispered, nudging Harrius. 

“Um,” Harrius said. “We have something to tell you, Hagrid.” 

“Oh?” Hagrid raised her eyebrows. “What would that be, then?”

“Well,” Harrius said, “remember how this morning you told me about the basement?”

“I didn’t tell yer nothin’,” Hagrid said quickly. “Yer should forget I said it.”

“Right,” Harrius continued, “but I think I saw some Pyrae students trying to get down there!”

“What?” Hagrid looked at him in alarm. She glanced at Ron, who nodded vigorously. 

“When?” she said. 

“A few minutes ago,” Harrius said. “If you go now, you might catch them!”

Hagrid shook her head and muttered something, before turning and hurrying away. 

Ron and Harrius let her go ahead for a few seconds, and then ran after her. 

Hagrid was very large and hard to miss in any room she entered – but her stride was long, and she knew the facility like the back of her hand. Harrius and Ron struggled to keep up as they followed her through the maze of ground floor corridors, and it was only through luck that they managed not to lose her. 

But fortunately her destination wasn’t too far away. Harrius and Ron saw her enter a tiny sub-corridor behind the ground floor bathrooms, and they heard the sound of keys jingling. A door creaked and closed, and then there was silence.

Harrius and Ron moved closer and peered around the corner. Neither of them had ever noticed the tiny corridor before – and there was nothing in it, except a single door at the end, marked ‘Staff Only’.

“That must be it!” Harrius said. “That’s the entrance to the basement!”

“Wow,” Ron said. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“Yeah,” Harrius breathed. He felt a little bad for deceiving Hagrid – but this was an emergency. If they didn’t rescue Trevor soon, the yellow frog would probably be incinerated or mulched or something.

“Do you think it’s locked?” Ron said, eyeing the door. 

“Probably,” Harrius said. “Although…”

He paused, and glanced around to make sure there were no tutors or wardens lurking nearby. Then, he ducked down the short corridor, and tried the handle. It turned, and the door creaked open. 

Harrius hurriedly closed it again. 

“Hagrid unlocked it!” he stage-whispered to Ron.

“Shhh, be quiet!” Ron hissed back. “She just went down there! What if she comes back?”

“I don’t think she’s coming back yet,” Harrius said. 

He carefully turned the handle again, and peeked through the crack in the door. 

“See, there’s no one there,” he said. “It’s just some stairs!”

“Shhh!” Ron said again. “Harrius, you’re giving me a heart attack!”

“We have to go down there,” Harrius said. 

“What? Now??”

“Yes, now!” Harrius hissed. “We’re not going to get another chance! Hagrid will lock it when she comes back!”

“Yeah, and lock us in there!”

“No,” Harrius said. “There’s a latch on the inside. We can get out!”

“But,” Ron shifted from foot to foot. “What if we get caught down there?”

“Well,” Harrius swallowed, “that would be bad, obviously. But how else are we supposed to rescue Trevor?”

“I dunno!” Ron said. “I didn’t think we’d get this far! Can’t we just make another Trevor or something?”

“Out of what? I don’t even know what Trevor is made of.”

“OK, good point,” Ron said. “But…I mean, Neville will probably get over it, right?”

“Maybe,” Harrius said. “But you know who won’t? Draco. He’s NEVER going to forget about it, and knowing him, he’s going to CONSTANTLY remind us. We can’t let him win this easily!”

He pulled the door open a little wider, and poked his head in. The stairs curved down and out of sight. It was mostly silent below, although Harrius could hear the throb of distant machinery.

“Are you coming?” he said to Ron over his shoulder. “If you don’t, that’s fine. But I’m going.”

Ron bounced on his feet, and looked around at the empty corridors, and made noises of indecision. Then, as Harrius stepped into the stairwell and made to close the door, he darted forwards.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he hissed. “But this is really stupid, and if we die, it’s your fault!”

Harrius grinned in reply.

Quickly and quietly, they moved down the stairs, ears straining for the sound of footfalls below. They were prepared to sprint back to safety at a moment’s notice – but their luck held, and they made it to the base of the stairs without Hagrid or anyone else appearing. 

Once there though, they only had a few moments to take in their new surroundings before the jingling of keys echoed down the corridor. 

“Quick!” Ron gasped, and he lunged for a nearby supply closet. It was unlocked, and they both crammed inside and closed the door – before realising it was full of volatile chemicals. The shelves were packed with bulky bottles, boxes and flasks, and the acrid fumes were overpowering. Within seconds, Harrius began to feel giddy.

But there was no time to find a better hiding spot. Outside, the keys jangled closer, and footsteps approached. Harrius breathed in shallow breaths through his shirt, and prayed that Hagrid didn’t stop and open the door…

The footsteps passed, moving away and up the stairs. Shortly, the door at the top closed with a distant thud – and gasping, Harrius and Ron burst out into fresh air.

“Emperor,” Ron said, rubbing his eyes. “What the hell was in there??”

Harrius blinked until his vision stopped swimming, and then he turned and eyed the label on the closet. “Cleaning Reagents,” he read, and then coughed.

“Well, I never want to be cleaned again,” Ron said, making a face. 

They both stood and got their breath back for a moment – and as they did so, they looked around at the basement. They were standing in a corridor much like those of the floors above, although devoid of art and decoration, and lit by a series of unpleasantly bright fluorescent lights. There were neatly labelled metal doors on either side of the corridor, and the floors were clean and dry. It was nothing like the stone dungeon dripping with slime which Harrius had been imagining – although there was also more down here than he’d thought.

“This place is huge,” he said, stepping cautiously forwards. “I wonder where the garbage room is?”

“Wait,” Ron followed after him. “What’s the plan, if there are more people down here? Are we going to run, or hide?”

“Hide,” Harrius said. “It’s pretty echoey down here – they’ll hear us if we run.”

“Great,” Ron said. “Let’s hope the other storage rooms aren’t so nasty, then!”

“Bathroom Supplies,” Harrius read as they walked past. “Mops and Brooms. Those couldn’t possibly be bad, could they?”

“You say that,” Ron muttered, “but I’m sure we’ll go in, and the brooms’ll try and eat us.”

As quietly as they could, they moved down the corridor and reached the end, which turned sharply left. The way ahead remained empty and quiet, although the sounds of machinery had gotten louder.

“Electrical Control,” Harrius read as they walked past a large double door. “Water Systems Access. These are more like what we’re looking for!”

“What about that room?” Ron pointed at a door which displayed nothing but a skull and several exclamation points.

“Dunno,” Harrius said. “Servo-skulls maybe?”

“Ugh, I hope not,” Ron said. “Those things creep me out.”

They again reached the end of the corridor, which again turned to the left. Almost immediately, Harrius spotted another double door, labelled ‘Waste Processing’.

“There!” he said. “I think that’s it!”

The door was lined with hazard stripes, and machines hummed and whirred from inside. There was a tiny window in each of the doors, and Harrius stood on tip-toe to peer through.

The room beyond was large and industrial, with ventilation tubing and wires criss-crossing the ceiling. In the centre was an enormous chute, and under the chute was a giant pit, full of trash. Machine arms with claws, buckets or giant magnets moved slowly up and down, lifting garbage and dropping it into smaller containers. The containers were tipped onto a conveyer belt, and the trash taken through a series of machines, where it was shaken, blown, sifted and crushed. At the end, the sorted trash was spat out into a labelled tub of homogenous material – ‘Glass’, ‘Ceramic’, ‘Metal’, and ‘Organics Slurry’, among other things. 

It was all very interesting – but Harrius didn’t have the time to sit around and wonder how it worked. Turning his focus back to the main trash pile, he looked it up and down, searching for Trevor. If the frog had already been sorted, then they were too late – it surely wouldn’t survive the process intact. But the trash pit was huge, and it had only been a few hours… 

There!

Near the front right corner of the trash pile, Harrius spotted the bright yellow soft toy, its back legs in the air. It was smeared with bin juice, but otherwise looked unharmed – and it was right there, ready to be rescued, not ten metres away! Barely believing his luck, Harrius grinned, and went to open the door. 

“Wait, no!” Ron hissed, grabbing his arm. “There’s someone in there!”

Harrius ducked down, and stared at Ron in dismay. “What?” he said. “Who?”

“A Mechanicus priest, I think,” Ron said. “I saw red robes.”

“Dammit,” Harrius said.

Cautiously, they both straightened up and peered through the tiny windows again. Sure enough, there was a Mechanicus priest in there, standing over a control console in the back corner. Their back was towards the door, and they were standing very still, quite literally plugged into the console via an array of wires and mechadendrites.

“Do you think they’d notice if we went in?” Harrius said. “They seem pretty busy.” 

“I dunno,” Ron said. “What if they do see us? And then chase after us, on two-hundred tiny spider legs?”

“I think that priest has mag-legs, actually,” Harrius said. “But you’re right – it would be bad if they saw us.”

“Mag-what-now?” Ron said.

“Mag-legs,” Harrius said. “They’re legs which magnetically stick on surfaces, so you can climb upside down and stuff. I knew someone who had them, back on Halos.”

“You knew a cogboy?” Ron looked interested. 

“Yeah,” Harrius said. “Actually, I wanted to be one. Before, uhh, all this happened.”

“Really?” Ron said. “Why???”

Harrius shrugged. “I think they’re cool!” 

Ron looked sceptical, but he didn’t press the issue. “Right,” he said. “So, how do we get the frog?”

Harrius frowned, thinking it over.

“What if,” he said slowly, “we levitated it out? That way, we would only have to open the door a little bit, and I doubt the priest will notice. The biggest problem is that we’re not supposed to use psychic powers outside of class…”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said, gesturing around at the corridor they were standing in. “And we NEVER break the rules!”

“I know,” Harrius said, “but I think this one is more serious.”

“Well, do you have any other ideas?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then let’s do it,” Ron said. “And then get out of here!”

Harrius nodded. He looked through the window to make sure the Mechanicus priest was still standing in the same spot. They were, and taking a breath, Harrius reached for the door handle.

“You keep watch,” he told Ron

As slowly and quietly as he could, he began to pull the door outwards, until there was enough space to stick his head and shoulders through. Crouching down, he peeked into the room, eyes on the priest. 

They still hadn’t noticed. Slowly, Harrius raised a hand, and focused on the yellow toy in the trash pile. He took a deep breath through his nose, and reached for the warp. It felt strange to do so, without a tutor barking commands over the top of it. 

On the pile, Trevor quivered slightly, and then dislodged from the rest of the garbage. Low to the ground and rotating gently, it began to float towards the door. 

“What the hell…?” a voice said.

It came from inside the room, off to the side, and disturbingly close. Ron swore, and Harrius, his heart jumping in fright, boosted the speed of the floating frog. It shot into his waiting hands, and he scrambled upright and away from the door. As he did so, he vaguely registered that he’d pulled on the warp too hard, and that frost-crystals were blossoming across the base of the door – but then Ron was grabbing his shirt and dragging him back.

“Run!” Ron gasped, and they both bolted down the corridor and around the first corner. Behind them, someone yelled ‘Who’s there?” and they heard the door bang open.

Hearts thundering in their ears, the two boys sprinted back towards the stairs, escape the only thing on their minds. But as they reached the second corner, Ron, who was slightly in front, skidded to a stop and threw out his arm.

There was another Mechanicus priest in the way, standing half inside of a storage closet, next to a pile of boxes which took up most of the corridor. At the sound of running feet, their hood began to turn – and Harrius and Ron scrambled back out of sight.

“Shit shit shit!” Ron hissed. “Where do we go? Where do we go?!”

Behind them, footsteps rang out as the person from Waste Processing came to investigate. If they didn’t move, they would be caught within moments, clear as day under the fluorescent lights. 

Harrius had seconds to react. Desperately, he looked around at the doors which lined this section of the basement. There were two which he figured were close enough to get to – Water Systems Access, and the door marked with a skull.

He lunged for Water Systems and tried the handle. It was locked. The footsteps got closer.

He darted across and tried the handle of the skull door. It was locked. For a second, his brain froze – there was nothing he could do! He was doomed!

But then something of his training kicked in, and he took a deep breath. He forced himself to calm, and he reached for the warp.

Time seemed to slow and the approaching footsteps stretched and echoed. In the corner of his eye, Harrius could almost sense whoever it was, just moments from stepping into view. But he ignored them, and focused on what else he could sense. He laid a hand on the door, and he felt its warp shadow, and how it sat in its frame. He felt the hinges, and the mechanism which opened it, and the lock which was keeping it closed. 

There was only a small piece of metal in his way. All he had to do was move it like so…! 

There was a metallic crunch from inside the door, and Harrius tried the handle again. It opened, and he darted inside. Ron hurried after him, and they closed the door with a quiet snap.

Outside, the footsteps came around the corner, and stopped. 

“Hello?” they heard the voice say. “Anyone there?”

There was a long pause. Harrius and Ron held their breath. The person outside came a little closer and then stopped again.

“Welp,” they heard the voice mutter, “they don’t pay me enough to deal with creepy psyker bullshit anyway.” Then the footsteps moved off again, fading into the distance. 

Harrius and Ron both let out a sigh of relief.

“Emperor preserve me,” Ron gasped weakly. “That was so close!”

“I know,” Harrius breathed. “I can’t believe I managed to unlock it…”

“What is this room, anyway?” Ron said, turning around.

It was warm and dimly lit, and it smelt very strange – although not as bad as the chemical closet. It was also very large, and full of odd shapes – constructions of rockcreate, piles of dried plant matter, and a large tub of water. 

“Weird,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose. “It reminds me of a reptile tank in – like the ones in the public menagerie, back on Caph. Except this reptile would have to be enormous-”

“Maybe they keep grox down here?” Harrius said.

“No,” Ron replied, in a high pitched voice. “I don’t think it’s a grox.”

“How do you know?” Harrius asked.

“Because it’s right there!”

He was staring at one of the rockcreate piles, on top of which was a large dark shape. As Harrius followed his gaze, the shape shifted slightly, and raised its head. 

It was a massive animal – much larger than any land-dwelling beast Harrius had ever seen. It was scaly and greenish-brown in colour, with darker stripes down its back, and a crest of brighter coloured spines around its head. Its snout was long and conical, and it had four tiny black eyes, glistening in the dim light like beads of oil.

Harrius and Ron froze, staring at the beast – and it stared back unblinkingly. The tip of its snout opened, and a long tongue flicked out, tasting the air. 

“Harrius..!” Ron whispered through his teeth. “We should go..!”

Slowly, Harrius nodded, and even more slowly, he took a step backwards. The giant creature cocked its head and its tongue flickered again. Then it opened its mouth. The conical snout split five ways, and vicious fangs folded outwards, wet with saliva.

Harrius took another step back, and another. Behind him, Ron was almost within reach of the door. On top of its perch, the beast hauled itself up to its full height. Despite its reptilian appearance, its legs were set beneath its body and, on all fours, it was taller than a man.

As it stepped down off the rockcrete, it opened wide its alien jaws, and a low whistling sound began. It was a horrible noise, and a primal terror arose in the pit of Harrius’ stomach, paralysing him, filling him with a creeping, numbing nausea…

“NOW!” Ron yelled, and he wrenched open the door.

The beast pounced, and its jaws clamped shut. But Harrius had already bolted out the door. He slammed the door and backed away from it. There was a single thud against the other side – and then silence.

“Wh-“ Harrius breathed. “What the HELL was that???”

“Don’t know, don’t care, let’s bloody GO,” Ron squeaked, and he dragged Harrius away.

They were so shaken, that they no longer cared if the Mechanicus priest saw them – but fortunately, the priest had disappeared. The boxes were still in the hallway, but they dodged around them, and got to the stairs with no further incident.

Once they had gotten back to the ground floor, they shakily went into the bathroom, and just leaned against the wall for a while, letting their heartrates return to normal.

“Holy Emperor,” Harrius said weakly. “Let’s not do that again!”

Ron nodded fervently. “I’m pretty sure I lost a few years off my lifespan!”

“What WAS that thing?” Harrius said. “And why is it in the basement??”

Ron just shook his head.

“Well,” Harrius said, and he looked down at the rubbery frog in his arms. “At least we got Trevor. So, mission success, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Should we give it back to Neville?”

Harrius washed Trevor in the sink, until the worst of the bin smell was gone. Then he and Ron went to find their cohort. 

Less than half an hour had passed since they’d run off to the basement, and everyone was still at dinner. As they came in, Hermione saw them, and speed-walked over to meet them.

“Where did you guys go?” she frowned. “You didn’t get into trouble, did you?”

“Well,” Ron said, “we didn’t get caught, if that’s what you mean. It was a close thing, though.”

“What did you do?” Hermione demanded. Then she saw Trevor, and her eyes widened. “How-?”

“Don’t ask,” Ron said. “Just sit back, and appreciate. C’mon, lets show everyone.”

They re-joined the Raptora table, and with great pomp and ceremony, Ron presented Trevor back to Neville. Neville was stunned into silence, and his eyes welled with tears as hugged the yellow frog to his chest. Around him, the other students cheered loudly, and thumped their fists on the table, until Perseus came over and told them to stop. 

Harrius meanwhile made sure to check if Pyrae was watching this. They were, and Harrius was delighted to see that they looked absolutely flummoxed. The expression on Draco’s face made the whole terrifying escapade worth it.

His spirits restored, he sat back and listened as Ron fielded a barrage of questions about how they’d rescued Trevor. He kept it vague, glazing over certain parts, while embellishing others – and he left out the part where they’d encountered a monster entirely. It was too strange, after all – if he hadn’t seen it for himself, Harrius would never have believed it.

Later, they explained in more detail what had happened to Hermione, and she didn’t believe it either.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “Why would the Scholastica Psykana keep a savage xeno-beast in the basement? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Harrius responded. “And yet...there it was.”


	19. Sanguinala

After that one especially eventful Saturday, nothing much happened for a while. Harrius, however, thought often about the monster in the basement, and the talking diary in Snape’s classroom. What were they doing there? How had they gotten there? Did they belong to someone, and if so, who? 

Harrius wished that he could find out more. But his tight schedule limited any independent investigation – and besides, there wasn’t anyone he could just ask about these things.

Of course, this didn’t stop him from talking about them with his friends – and for a couple of weeks, their free time was filled with discussions of bizarre phenomena and increasingly wild speculation about their origin. But after a while, when nothing new and interesting happened, they began to get bored of the topic. Even Ron would just shrug whenever Harrius brought it up.

“I’m sure there’s a reason why the lizard is there,” he would say. “But whatever it is, there’s no way they’ll ever tell us.”

But Harrius couldn’t let it go – and although he eventually stopped voicing his latest theories, he continued to think about them. The diary in particular bothered him – it had not been contained in its own room, unlike the basement monster. Harrius had even looked for it the next time he’d had maths, but it hadn’t been there anymore. 

He was sure it was still somewhere in the branch though, whispering and cajoling with its creepy human mouth. Once in pyromancy class, he asked Markus if he knew what had happened to it, but the older boy said he did not.

“But don’t worry, man,” he said. “I’m sure Professor Snape destroyed it. It’s gone! Nothing to get all bothered about!”

Harrius was doubtful – but he didn’t dare ask Snape if he HAD destroyed the diary. The only other person he ever asked questions of was Hagrid. 

Hagrid didn’t mention the basement again, let alone the monster, and Harrius didn’t bring it up either, too worried that she would figure out that he’d broken the rules. But he did ask her if she’d seen an old diary, although he left out some of the weirder details when he described it. 

She hadn’t seen it – and still hadn’t seen it whenever Harrius asked. But Harrius liked talking to her anyway and stopped to do so whenever he saw her. She told him many interesting things, about her work in Branch H, and her earlier job as a dockhand at a Terran spaceport. She also knew a lot about animals, both Terran-native like Norbet the rat, and xeno, like most other creatures. She could talk for hours about her favourite species – although she never mentioned anything resembling a gigantic lizard with a mouth which split five ways.

And so time passed, classes continued, and Harrius did his homework, ate and slept. Outside the facility, the weather grew colder, and it rained most days. The rain smelt strange, and if you stood in it for too long, it caused your skin to peel and redden. But fortunately, aside from the two-minute dash between the main building and the gymnasium complex, the Sanctionites did not have to spend time outdoors. 

In Practical, the Raptora students were taught about Choirs – a formation of multiple psykers working together, linking their psychic abilities in order to achieve the otherwise impossible. There were different roles within a Choir – Draw, who gathered power from the warp, Wield, who shaped that power, and perhaps most importantly, Anchor, who stabilised the Choir firmly in reality. The theory was that with each psyker channelling and concentrating on a separate part of the whole, even the weakest of psykers could become a powerful weapon.

Harrius, Ron, Hermione and Neville usually worked together, and they made a great team. Harrius had raw power, and usually took the role of Draw, while Hermione had excellent fine control and was almost always Wield. Ron and Neville switched between Anchor and Wield, helping Hermione shape the power Harrius channelled towards them, or standing back, eyes closed, whispering strings of memorized prayer. Together, on separate occasions, they were able to lift an entire Leman Russ battle tank a metre off the ground, fill half the gym with horizontally spinning pencils, and create a telekinetic shield strong enough to withstand a barrage of psychically propelled objects from rest of the cohort.

This earned them a tidy cache of House points, as well as a reputation amongst their peers as one of the strongest teams. Ron took to referring to their group as the Blackship Bud Squad, but it didn’t really take off.

There was also another joint Practical, this time with Corvidae. The game they played involved kicking a ball around the court and into a netted goal square, no hands allowed – except to make it more difficult, everyone also wore a blindfold. The Raptora students used their powers to feel the space around them, and to move the ball in whatever unpredictable trajectory they desired. Meanwhile, the Corvidae students used their powers of foresight to kick the ball to the right place at the right time.

Corvidae House wasn’t known for its offensive tactics, as divineers tended towards supportive roles in the Imperium at large – but the match turned out to be surprisingly tough. The more Raptora planned their moves ahead, the better Corvidae was able to counter. It didn’t matter that the ball looped around the ceiling three times before shooting for goal, the goalie still stood in exactly the right place to stop it every time.

Eventually though, Raptora realised that not planning anything was much more effective. If they didn’t know themselves where the ball was going to go, then the potential outcomes for any one action massively expanded, and the Corvidae students became confused. Using this tactic, Raptora was able to win the match – but Corvidae wasn’t remotely upset about it. Most of the students had apparently predicted they would lose and, not only that, had been placing bets on how many points they would lose by.

It was with some surprise that Harrius realised that it was almost Sanguinala, and that he'd been at Branch H for over four months.

“I’m SO excited for Sanguinala,” Ron was saying over breakfast. “I’ve heard rumours about how they celebrate it here, and it sounds wild. Enormous feasts, gigantic ceremonies, and everyone gets half a week off study! I can’t wait!”

“Feasts?” Harrius said, leaning in. Then he frowned. “Ceremonies? What sort of ceremonies?”

“Well, I imagine the usual sort, but bigger,” Ron said.

Harrius made a face. His experience of the Imperium’s holiest of holidays was spending the entire thing packed in the cathedral with the rest of the town, sitting in dead silence while a priest read out solemn passages from a sacred tome. The passages were mostly in High Gothic, and Harrius had no idea what was being said, although the vibe was distinctly melancholy. Usually, he spent the entire thing fidgeting in his seat, feeling vaguely sad, and extremely bored.

He explained the typical Halosian Sanguinala to Ron – and Ron stared at him, horrified. 

“Mate,” he said. “You’ve been missing out!”

“Oh?” Harrius said.

Ron nodded, and told Harrius about his own, much more exciting, version of Sanguinala. On Caph, the holiday had been celebrated through a huge street festival, with markets, public sermons, themed decorations, and even a parade.

Harrius could barely believe his ears. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Isn’t Sanguinala a sad day? It’s about some dude who died, isn’t it? Why are they throwing a parade?”

Ron made a series of unintelligible noises and clutched at his heart. “Harrius!” he gasped. “You can’t just refer to Sanguinius, The Great Angel, The Noblest of Noble, as ‘some dude’!”

“OK,” Harrius said, “but he did die, didn’t he?”

“Holy Emperor On His Throne,” Ron said. “Yes, he died. It was very sad, and yes, we mourn his passing every year. But that’s not the only thing Sanguinala is about!”

“What’s it about, then?” Harrius asked.

“It’s about EVERYONE who has died in the line of duty!” Ron spread his arms. “The Great Angel sacrificed his life to protect the Emperor, Terra, and the Imperium from a terrible foe – and so have many others! It’s about celebrating their lives, all of them, for their bravery, loyalty, and dedication to the Emperor! They have made the ultimate sacrifice, to keep the rest of us safe. Without them, the Imperium would be nothing! And that’s why there’s a parade – to honour them!”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “Huh.”

“Yeah!” Ron said. “Anyway – I expect that Terra will have similar celebrations to Caph, but probably amped up by a thousand.”

“Cool,” Harrius said, and reached for the scrambled eggs.

As the holy day approached, an air of anticipation built up amongst the students. The ever-present smell of incense intensified and mixed with the strange and wonderful scents wafting up from the kitchens. Decorations appeared in the halls – banners depicting the blood-red wings of Baal, or the golden Imperial Aquilla, as well as other symbols from Militarum regiments who had made particularly noble or outstanding sacrifices within the past year. A modified class schedule was released, and everyone excitedly planned out their precious free time. 

Beyond Branch H, the hive was setting up its own decorations, and loud music or firecrackers could often be heard, which only fuelled the excitement. There were rumours of an airshow set for Sanguinala afternoon, which might even be visible from the Branch H courtyard, and more rumours that one of the parades was scheduled to pass by the front gates.

At last, their first day off arrived, and instead of their usual classes, the Sanctionites of all phases were sent to Mess Hall A. There, they were treated to the full story of the great Sanguinius and his untimely, heroic death, as performed by a professional orator. 

Harrius had only ever heard bits and pieces of the epic tale before, and he sat enthralled as the story unfolded. He was astounded by the evil and trickery of the Nine Devils, and enraged at their attempt to slay the Emperor. He was overjoyed when their villainous plot was thwarted by Sanguinius’ bravery – and then devastated when the Great Angel was struck down by the enemy leader, the largest and most evil of the Devils. But his death was not in vain, for Sanguinius had weakened the Devil, creating a chink in its otherwise impenetrable armour. And it was through this chink that the Emperor was able to slay the leader, and thus destroy the Nine Devils forever.

The orator was very good – and by the end of it, there wasn’t a dry eye or unpatriotic heart in the entire hall. Once the tale was over, servitors brought in a series of succulent dishes, and everyone sat and wiped away tears through mouthfuls of tender meat and steaming vegetables.

Afterwards, the Sanctionites were bounced through a series of special activities and sermons, where they did Sanguinala-themed arts and crafts, or were regaled with heroic stories from all around the Imperium, alongside a healthy dose of prayer and scripture. In between, each meal was a feast fit for a planetary governor – and perhaps best of all, there was no homework for four entire days.

On the eve of Sanguinala itself, it was announced that the airshow was not only going to be close enough to see, but the Sanctionites would be allowed out into the yard to see it – and it was in extremely high spirits that everyone made their way down to Mess Hall A for yet another giant feast.   
The tutors also made an appearance, seating themselves at the raised table at the end of the room to eat their own dinner. Professor-Primus Dumbledore made a speech on the meaning of Sanguinala, and then a second speech to congratulate the students on making it through one third of the phase. 

Harrius had never experienced anything like this before, and he was enjoying it immensely. Terra was amazing, Sanguinala was amazing, and he’d never felt more content and more a part of the Imperium than he did right then.

He felt that there was nothing which could ruin his mood today, not even Draco – but the blonde boy definitely gave it his best shot.

Harrius and Hermione had gotten up to get dessert from one of the buffet tables, when they found themselves in line directly behind Draco. Harrius noticed who it was at the last second, and tried to back-peddle, but too late – Draco had already seen him, and if he left now, it would be like admitting defeat.

“Ah,” Draco said, looking Harrius up and down. “Look who it is. How’s Raptora, dirt boy? Is your official soft toy mascot alive and well?”

“Trevor is fine,” Harrius said. “How’s Pyrae? Won any joint Practicals yet?”

He knew full well that Pyrae had lost to Pavoni just last week – and Draco scowled at him.

“Are you having fun, Harrius?” he said. “Enjoying life, with all your little friends, in your pathetic House? You don’t even belong in that House, you know. We all saw you using pyromancy. We all know you’re a cheat.”

“I’m not a cheat,” Harrius said. “Professor Hooch said it was allowed. You were there, you heard her! I think…I think you’re just worried that I’ll be better at pyromancy than you are.”

“No,” Draco sneered. “I know I’m better. I just can’t for the life of me imagine why you chose Raptora over Pyrae. No one cares about telekines, not in the real world. They’re as common as grox shit. They send them out into battle in some shitty Wyrdvane Choir, and they all die in five minutes. That’s what will happen to you, Harrius. You and your friends.”

“Actually,” Hermione interjected, “a skilled telekine is a valuable asset. Just because pyromancers are more rare doesn’t make them inherently more useful. In fact there are those who would argue that a telekine is the far more useful of the two. In general, a telekine is more versatile, as they are able to deploy defensive as well as offensive strategies, and-” 

“Holy Terra,” Draco cut her off. “You are SUCH a nerd. Seriously, who cares? Honestly, I don’t know why anyone can stand you. You’re so boring! I’m falling asleep just listening to you!”

Hermione stared at him with an open mouth, before closing it with a snap. Silently, she turned her back on Draco – but not before Harrius saw tears forming in her eyes.

Harrius’ good mood evaporated, and he rounded on Draco. 

“Listen here, you slimy-!”

“No, Harrius,” Hermione grabbed his arm sharply. “Don’t!”

Harrius started to protest – but then he saw why Hermione was so emphatic. Perseus was standing behind them in the food line, with only a few other students between them. He was currently distracted, talking to a bored-looking fifth-phase Sanctionite, but if a fight broke out, he would absolutely notice and start removing House points. 

Draco wasn’t worth losing points over. Breathing in and out a few times, Harrius stayed where he was, and settled on glaring at the blonde boy. 

“You’re wrong,” he said. “Hermione may be a nerd, but she isn’t boring, and we all care about what she says.”

“Oohh,” Draco said. “You care about her? Do you wuv her? Is she your giwlfwiend?”

Harrius just rolled his eyes. 

“Draco,” he said, “if anyone’s boring, it’s you.”

Then he turned his back again.

“He’s a git,” he said to Hermione quietly. “Don’t listen to what he says.”

“I know,” Hermione sniffed, her face hidden behind her bushy hair. “Thanks, though. For defending me.”

They did they best to ignore Draco as they filled up their plates – but unfortunately, Draco wasn’t done yet. As he turned away to head back to the Pyrae table, he was holding a full glass of fruit juice – and glass first, he ‘accidentally’ bumped into Hermione. 

“Ohhh, ohh noooo, how has this happened,” he said, as Hermione stood mouth open, the front of her uniform drenched. 

Hermione sent him a disgusted glare, before she put down her half-filled plate and walked away, towards the entrance of the hall. A trail of juice dripped after her.

“Draco, this is a new low, even for you,” Harrius said. 

Draco gave Harrius a tiny bow, and then grinning, he walked away back to his table. Shaking his head, Harrius grabbed both his and Hermione’s plates and made his own way back to the Raptora table.

“What happened there?” Ron asked him, eyeing the door through which Hermione had just left.

“Draco spilled his drink on her,” Harrius scowled. “On purpose.”

“That bastard!” Ron said.

They spent the next few minutes discussing how much they disliked Draco, and whether it was worth attempting some sort of juice related vengeance upon him. Then, their discussion was cut short when Perseus wandered over and, much to their annoyance, sat down opposite them.

Harrius and Ron desperately tried to avoid conversation with the prefect, but unfortunately he was in a chatty mood. They were forced to sit and listen as he recounted his earliest memories of Sanguinala, as well as other dull details of his childhood.

The anecdote went on and on, and Harrius felt his eyelids beginning to droop. He had eaten a lot, it was getting late, and he was starting to feel warm and fuzzy. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was 21:00, which was just about bed time…

There was a crash, and the doors to Mess Hall A burst open.

Conversation hushed and all eyes turned, as Professor Quirrell ran into the hall. He sprinted to the raised section where the tutors sat, and bent over, panting. 

“Incursion!” he gasped. “There’s been an incursion in the Branch! One of the students-!”

There was a pause, where everyone looked at each other in confusion. Then, with a scraping of chairs, all of the tutors abruptly stood and began to move. Professor McGonagall half-ran to the Raptora table, locating Perseus, who got up as she approached. 

“Take all the first-phase students to the eastern courtyard,” she said sharply. “Quickly and calmly, if you will. A squad of wardens will also be sent there, so it should be safe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Perseus saluted, and then turned to eyeball the watching students. “You heard the Professor,” he barked. “Everyone up and follow me! Quickly and calmly!”

As everyone began to stand up, klaxons blared into life, wailing at regular intervals throughout the Branch. The festive atmosphere of a moment ago evaporated in an instant, as prefects and tutors marshaled their students into orderly lines. Harrius glanced at Ron, who gave him a small shrug in response.

“Alright!” Perseus yelled over the klaxons. “Stay close behind! No wandering off! This is not a drill!”

He led the way off towards the main door, and everyone followed in silence. But just as they were leaving the hall, Harrius inhaled sharply.

“Crap!” he hissed. “Hermione!”

“Oh Emperor,” Ron said. “Where is she?”

“I’m not sure,” Harrius said. “She went to wash the fruit juice off her clothes.”

“The bathrooms?” Ron said. 

They looked at each other.

“She can surely hear the sirens,” Ron said. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Harrius said. “But she won’t know what they mean. Or where we’ve all gone...”

“The bathroom isn’t that far away,” Ron said hesitantly.

“Do you think we could get there?” Harrius said. “Before they notice we’ve left?”

“It’ll only take a minute,” Ron said. “Nip there, nip back, right? Meanwhile, they’re trying to herd hundreds of people outside. I…I don’t think they will notice.”

“Right,” Harrius said. “Then let’s go.”


	20. Incursion

Harrius and Ron drifted to the back of the group and, when the group turned a corner, they peeled away in the opposite direction. Quickly and quietly, they ducked out of view, doubling back and breaking into a run. 

The bathroom was only a two-minute walk from Mess Hall A – but they had to take the long way around, to avoid the column of evacuating students. Unfortunately, the other corridors were not entirely empty either, and they almost jumped out of their skins when a pair of wardens stepped out of a junction right in front of them.

The wardens had their visors down and weapons at the ready, and didn’t turn their heads as they strode purposefully past.

Harrius and Ron froze for a few seconds, and then continued on cautiously. It was difficult to hear anything over the blaring sirens, so they kept their eyes peeled, and paused to look before entering each new corridor.

As they passed by a stairwell to the first floor, they were startled when a thick metal plate began descending across it, the red light above the door flashing balefully in time with the klaxons.

“Emperor,” Ron said. “I didn’t even know we had blast doors.”

Harrius opened his mouth to reply – but instead he winced, as a wave of nausea rolled through his guts. It was an awfully familiar feeling. He grabbed Ron and dragged him into the nearest classroom. 

A moment later, another group of wardens jogged by, heavy boots pounding on the floor. This time, they had unleashed their dreadful anti-psychic auras, and Harrius and Ron both sunk to the floor, groaning and clutching at their stomachs as their internal organs fought to climb out of their nostrils.

Thankfully the wardens were gone again in seconds – and breathing heavily, the two boys got back to their feet. 

“Holy Terra, I will never get used to that,” Ron said, slumping against the door. “I HATE blanks!”

“Yeah,” Harrius said, wiping spit off his mouth with a shaking hand. “I wonder why they’re running around with their auras on full blast?”

“Dunno,” Ron said. “Can’t be good, though. Between that and the blast doors, I’m starting to think this is really serious.”

“What did Professor Quirrell say again?” Harrius frowned. “An ‘incursion’? Do you know what that means?”

“No idea,” Ron said. “Maybe someone broke in from the hive outside? Used to happen all the time back on Caph…”

“And that would cause the entire building to evacuate?”

“Maybe,” Ron said. “If they’re some sort of super-burglar. Or a whole gang of super-burglars!”

“Right,” Harrius said doubtfully.

Once the last feelings of nausea had faded, they cautiously left the classroom and continued onwards. It was eerie, travelling through empty corridors with nothing but an emergency siren for company, and the prospect of super-burglars or worse lurking nearby. Fortunately, the bathroom was only a few more corridors away – and without further incident, they arrived.

Harrius knocked loudly on the girl’s bathroom, and then cracked open the door. 

“Hermione?” he hissed. “Are you in there?”

He waited for a reply. Then he waited some more, but nothing – and his heart sunk like a stone. She wasn’t there. She must have gone to a different bathroom. Or maybe she went upstairs to get changed entirely?

“Hermione?” he called again, louder. “Hermione!” 

He turned to look at Ron.

“Where is she?” Ron said nervously. “Do you think we missed her?”

“Where would she have gone?” Harrius said. “Do you think-”

He broke off as they both heard footsteps approaching. They were rapid and very close, and there was no time to hide before they came around the corner…

It was Hermione.

“What are you two doing here?” she demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Hermione!” Ron said. “Praise the Emperor!”

Hermione frowned at him. “How did you get here?” 

“There’s an emergency happening,” Harrius said. “We came to get you. Everyone’s evacuating to the eastern courtyard, but we figured you wouldn’t know.”

“Well, thanks,” Hermione said. “I…I thought I was trapped actually, so, I’m glad you’re here. What exactly is the emergency, anyway? Obviously, it isn’t a fire, since there are dozens of trained pyromancers in the building…”

“We don’t know,” Harrius said. “But it looks pretty serious. We should probably get back to the others-”

“Yes, please,” Hermione said.

They started back the way they’d come. As they went, Ron filled Hermione in what they knew so far.

“An incursion?” Hermione said. “An incursion of what?”

“Um,” Ron said. “Burglars?”

“No, I don’t think that’s the right word,” Hermione said. “If it was burglars, they would say ‘there’s been a break-in’. ‘Incursion’ implies something a lot more aggressive.”

“Oh, great,” Ron said. “Assassins!” 

“I’m just glad they haven’t blocked off all the corridors yet,” Hermione said. “I tried to go back to Mess Hall A, but a great big slab of metal came down and stopped me in my tracks! It seemed very unsafe!”

“Oh yeah, the blast doors,” Ron said. “We saw one earlier! Did you know we had those? I-”

“Umm,” Harrius interrupted him. “Speaking of blast doors – we have a problem.”

They stopped and looked at what used to be a junction, but was now closed off by thick sheet of metal, painted with hazard stripes.

“Oh no,” Ron said. 

“Great,” Hermione threw up her arms. “So now we’re all stuck here!”

“Maybe not,” Harrius said. “If we go back a bit, there’s another way, past the kitchens. Maybe they haven’t closed that off?”

“Bet they have,” Ron said.

They tried the alternative route – but they barely got two corridors before they hit another dead end.

“Well,” Ron said nervously. “At least the hordes of assassins can’t get to us. The blast doors are in their way too, right?”

“Yeah,” Harrius said, “but Perseus is definitely going to notice we’re gone now. This is bad.”

“You didn’t have to come and rescue me, you know?” Hermione said. “If it was just me, it would have clearly been an accident, but now we’re ALL going to get into trouble!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have taken so long in the bathroom?” Ron snapped. “If you came back faster, we wouldn’t have had to come here!”

“Oh?” Hermione rounded on him. “I’d like to see you clean an entire glass of fruit juice out of your uniform in five minutes!”

“Hey,” Harrius said loudly. “Can you argue later? We need to figure out what we’re doing! Are we just going to sit here until the emergency is over? Or are we going somewhere else?”

“I dunno,” Ron grumbled. “Where else can we go?”

“Well,” Harrius said. “Um…”

“We should try and find a warden,” Hermione said. “Then they can take us to where we’re supposed to be.”

“Oh yeah, we’ll just ask the five wardens we saw on the way here,” Ron said.

“They should be relatively easy to find,” Hermione continued, ignoring him. “Their null fields mean we can sense where they are within a certain radius, and logically, they should be checking every room for this ‘intruder’ or whatever it is, so it’s likely they will come through here sooner or later.”

“Great, so your plan is walk around aimlessly, on the chance that we hit a vomit aura?” Ron said. 

“Ron, if you don’t have anything positive to say, please shut up,” Hermione snapped. 

“I think it’s a better plan than just standing here,” Harrius said. “My only other idea was using telekinesis to unlock the blast door – but that would probably just get us into even more trouble later...”

“Harrius, that is a TERRIBLE idea,” Hermione said. “We are NOT using psychic powers, unless it’s an absolute emergency!”

“Right,” Harrius said. “Well, in that case, we should go back to the last place we saw the wardens…”

They once again headed back the way they’d come. Around them, the klaxons wailed on, but otherwise the corridors remained silent and still.

Shortly, they arrived at the classroom where they had hidden from the wardens earlier. But as they rounded the corner, and saw the stairwell to the first floor, they all stopped and stared in shock.

There was blood on the floor – a lot of it. There was also blood on the walls, and feathered across the ceiling. The walls were blackened and scorched, the stonework fractured and crumbling. Artworks lay destroyed on the floor, still smouldering gently.

The blast door across the stairs was mostly gone – it had melted from the centre outwards, the liquefied metal running down and pooling below. The metal was still molten in places, glowing orange beneath a cracking, cooling surface. The corridor was uncomfortably warm, and Harrius clapped a hand over his nose as the smell hit him – a stomach-churning blend of vaporised blood, acrid smoke, and charred meat.

The blood on the floor trailed away and out of sight. Right at the corner, there was something on the floor, something small and grey and splattered with gore. It was a piece of armour – a gauntlet by the looks of it. Most of the forearm was still inside. 

Harrius stared for a couple of seconds, before he backed hurriedly around the corner again. 

His heart was suddenly pounding, and bile burned in his throat, but he swallowed it. Beside him, Ron had gone white as chalk, and Hermione’s expression was a stony mask. 

“What the hell happened there?” Ron hissed, his voice cracking.

“Don’t know, let’s go the other way,” Harrius said.

They turned and fled quietly from the gruesome scene. At the junction between the kitchens and bathrooms they paused, before heading towards the bathrooms. 

At each corner, they stopped, and carefully checked the way ahead before continuing. No-one said a word, but they were all thinking about the arm in its pool of blood, and the blast door, melted like a blow torch through butter. Whatever had broken into the facility, it had to be some sort of monster.

Harrius began to wonder if the basement monster had broken out of its cell. He didn’t think that the massive lizard could breathe fire, but he wasn’t going to rule it out. The more he thought about it, the more it fuelled his paranoia that a large, vicious predator was stalking them, ready to pounce at any moment. It was all he could do to keep moving forwards into each new corridor, one foot in front of the other.

They arrived back at the bathrooms, and then continued on further. Hermione had said that the way back to Mess Hall A was blocked, but maybe she’d missed something?

As they approached the next corner however, there was a faint clatter from up ahead. They all froze, hearts in their throats, ears straining to pick out the sounds beneath the sirens. 

Footsteps. Soft, starting, then stopping, and the sound of a door handle squeaking.

“A warden?” Hermione mouthed at the others.

“No aura,” Harrius whispered back.

“Limiter back on?” Hermione whispered hopefully. 

Ron just shook his head and backed away, looking ill. 

Harrius, however, decided to chance it. It sounded like a human on the other side, so a warden seemed likely. There was no way a gigantic fire-breathing lizard would bother opening doors using the handle.

As quietly as he could, he stepped up to the corner. Ahead, a door slammed shut, and he heard a voice mutter something to itself. There were a few more footsteps, and another door squeaked open.

Harrius took that moment to peer around the corner and see who was there.

As he did so, he was struck by three realisations in a row. 

The first was that wardens didn’t usually talk, especially not to themselves. 

The second was that he recognised the person in the corridor. It was Markus. 

The third was that it was absolutely not Markus after all. Why had he thought that? Markus wasn’t three metres tall, with blue-grey skin, and long spindly arms ending in viciously curved talons. He certainly didn’t have a crest of feathers, continuously sprouting and wilting from his skin like a garden in time-lapse, and he only had two eyes, like a normal human.

Slowly, Harrius stepped back. He felt dizzy and sick, and adrenaline was thundering through his body. The thing defied all logical laws of nature, and it horrified him, shook him, disgusted him to his core.

Numbly, he became aware that Hermione was asking him something, and he turned to look at her. She saw his expression, and her question died. 

“Throne,” she said. “It’s the intruder, isn’t it?”

Harrius nodded.

“Harrius,” Hermione asked. “Did…did they see you?”

Harrius stared at her in despair. There was no way it hadn’t seen him. Not with that many eyes.

From around the corner, there was a giggle, quiet at first, but getting louder. Then a voice that was both Markus and very much not said “Harrius! Is that yoooooou~?”

Harrius turned and fled. Fear spiked through his body, and all thoughts left his mind, beside a powerful instinct that told him to hide, hide from this creature. He ran for the first cover he saw.

This happened to be the girl’s bathroom. Harrius was barely aware of the other two following him as he burst through the door and made for the furthest corner, locking himself in a stall and crouching down. 

This was a terrible place to hide, and he knew it, but he couldn’t force his legs to move. He couldn’t go back out there, and find somewhere else, he just couldn’t. Outside, he heard the thing laughing hysterically, and calling his name again. It was getting closer.

In the stall next to him, Ron and Hermione had locked themselves in. Ron was whimpering “what the fuck what the fuck” over and over, until Hermione put a hand over his mouth to silence him. 

“Harrius,” she hissed, “what is it? How does it know you?”

“It’s M-Markus,” Harrius choked out. “My p-pyro tutor! But something REALLY fucked up happened to him... He's all…he’s all mutated…”

“HARRIUS,” Ron squeaked. “This is such a bad hiding spot! It’s gonna find us!”

“I know,” Harrius whispered helplessly. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes and he curled into a ball.

In the next stall, Ron began to whisper a prayer. It was one of the many litanies to calm the mind which had been drilled into their memories through endless repetition.

Harrius listened, eyes closed, his mind blank. Then, without thinking, he joined in, breathing the words to himself. Outside, he heard a door bang open, disturbingly close – but it wasn’t the bathroom door. The creature hadn’t found them – not yet. 

Ron reached the end of the first litany and started a second. In the past, Harrius had complained about having to memorise so many prayers – but in the moment, he found that they were strangely comforting. The words were familiar, soothing in their predictability. As he focused on remembering the next line, his heart rate slowed, and his breathing returned to normal.

Soon, he found that he was, while not exactly calm, no longer frozen with terror. He could think more clearly, and rationally examine his own situation.

It was bad, very bad, there was no denying that. The thing which wasn’t Markus was looking for them, and barring a miracle, it would come into the bathroom and find them – it was only a matter of time. This same creature had already killed at least one warden, and would make short work of three children. They were fish in a barrel, and whether they lived or died was purely down to fate... 

Or was it?

Harrius frowned, and shook his head, his prayer trailing off. Yes, he was a kid – but he was also a psyker. Miracles were part of the job description, were they not? Surely there was something he could do?

He uncurled himself from the floor, and sat up straight, eyeing the cubicle around him.

“Hermione,” he whispered. “Would you…would you classify this as an absolute emergency?”

Hermione made a small noise of affirmation.

“Right,” Harrius said. “Then…we can use our powers.”

He slowly, shakily got to his feet and opened the cubicle door. The bathroom beyond was a large, white-tiled space with a long row of cubicles opposite a row of sinks. Above each sink was a small mirror, reflecting Harrius’ pale, scared face back at him. 

There was a pause, and then cubicle next to his opened, and Hermione peered out.

“What exactly are you proposing?” she whispered.

Harrius thought for a moment. Outside, everything had gone quiet, which was almost worse than the giggling.

“OK,” Harrius took a deep breath. “The Markus monster is probably going to find us, so we need to be ready.”

“Ready to do what?” 

“F-fight,” Harrius said. “We can’t just lay down and d-die. We’re trained psykers!”

“So is Markus!” Hermione said. “And he has a lot more experience!”

“OK, but there are three of us,” Harrius said. “And if we form a Choir, we’re pretty strong, r-right? B-blackship bud squad?”

“Blackship bud squad,” Hermione said doubtfully. “At least, three quarters of it…”

“I’ll be Draw,” Harrius said. “You be Wield. Ron is Anchor – right Ron? You should just keep doing what you’re doing, because it actually seems to be helping.”

From his position on the cubicle floor, Ron nodded his head slightly, and resumed his prayer. 

“OK, and what am I doing as Wield?” Hermione asked.

“Telekinetic shield,” Harrius said. “To start off with anyway, and then-” 

There was another loud bang outside as a door slammed closed, followed by a fresh bout of giggling. It was close, too close, and everyone fell dead silent.

There was a sharp rap on the bathroom door. 

“Hellooooo~?” not-Markus said. “Anybody in there~?”

Fear spiked in Harrius’ chest – but he took a breath and stood where he was.

“It’s found us,” he breathed. “Get in position!”

Hermione grabbed Ron, and dragged him out to sit in the centre of the floor. He barely reacted, eyes jammed closed, muttering the next prayer. Harrius and Hermione each grabbed one of his hands. 

“A shield isn’t going to help for long,” Hermione said, as the bathroom door squeaked open. “Especially against a pyromancer…”

“It just has to hold for a bit,” Harrius said. “I have an idea…”

“It BETTER be your best idea yet,” Hermione said. “Because-”

“Hellooooooo, kiddies!” not-Markus said, from right around the corner. “I found youuuuuuuu~!”

Harrius grabbed Hermione’s hand. “Ready?”

She nodded once. 

“Emperor protect us,” Harrius said. And he opened himself to the warp.

He felt Hermione do the same, and Ron followed a second later. Around the corner, the thing let out a gleeful cackle, like it had just been told a hilarious joke. Harrius tried to not let this unsettle him, and instead, just like in Practical, he concentrated on gathering power and channelling it towards Hermione. A shimmering blue dome blinked into life around them. 

Usually, there were two Wields – and since Hermione could only work with so much power at a time, there was some left over. Harrius, however, had been counting on this. Carefully, he channelled the remaining power into himself, and reached out into the room.

There were pipes and wires all throughout the ceiling, channels of cool and warm behind a thin layer of plaster. Harrius reached out to them, following their twists and bends – before he accidentally brushed the Markus monster.

He recoiled violently, and the dome flickered, almost collapsing. The thing’s aura was unlike anything Harrius had ever come across – turbulent, malevolent, and vastly, terrifyingly powerful. It was like pure warp made solid, a seething mass of destructive emotion and incomprehensible abstraction. Harrius reeled back, struck with profound cosmic terror as he tried to make sense of it – but a second later, he was dragged back to reality by the Anchor. Ron squeezed his hand tighter, and chanted louder.

Harrius breathed deeply, refocusing himself, and the protective barrier stabilised. Again, he reached out with the excess power, and this time, he grasped one of the pipes. 

Markus had been the one who had taught him that water was excellent for moderating temperature. Harrius had personally seen how much harder it was to light a wet match than a dry one.

If Markus was about to use pyromancy against him now, then Harrius wasn’t going to make it easy. As not-Markus at last stepped into view, Harrius dragged the pipe downwards, through the thin plaster, and a torrent of pressurised cold water blasted into the room.

Not-Markus caught the icy jet right to the chest – but it only giggled in response, and stepped aside. 

“Oooooh, very clever, Harrius,” it said. “Orrrrr IS IT?”

It raised its long arms, and the water became steam. The steam billowed throughout the room for a moment, before abruptly freezing into a series of long, jagged icicles. Before Harrius could react, the icicles were hurtling towards him.

Fortunately, the telekinetic barrier held. The icicles bounced off and rattled on the floor, where they melted back into water.

Harrius was astounded at the causal display of raw power. The cold water hadn’t even made a slight difference. Markus had been a talented pyromancer – but this creature was considerably stronger, by several ranks.

He glanced at the creature’s face – and instantly regretted it. It was hideous, a fleshy mess of eyes and nostrils and ears, in all the wrong places. There was a large mouth on its forehead, wide and full of teeth, human teeth, but far too many. Eyes and fingers and feathers and parts of internal organs formed and then shrivelled again all over its body, in a constant state of nightmarish mutation.

Harrius looked away in revulsion, focusing on Ron’s prayer. He tried to reach out again, feeling for the wires in the ceiling, but he was too distracted.

“Oooh, Harrius~” not-Markus called, stepping forwards. “What are you doing? Are you UP to something, Harriussss?” A second mouth opened in its upper arm, with a second, higher-pitched voice which joined in with the first. 

Harrius didn’t respond. Trusting Hermione to keep up the barrier, he closed his eyes and focused again, following the wires. 

“Harrius, do you feel my power?” the thing said, stepping forwards again. “Don’t you want this power too? You could have it, if you like~!”

Harrius frowned. “Hermione,” he hissed out the side of his mouth. “Can you throw some things at it?”

Hermione didn’t respond – but a moment later, one of the porcelain sinks ripped out of the wall and flew at the thing’s head. 

The thing waved a hand, and the sink exploded into superheated chunks.

“Ickle baby psykers,” it said gleefully. “You’re going to have to try harder than that~!”

Grinning with all of its mouths, it stalked forwards, until it stood just beyond the barrier. 

“Hmm, what’s it like?” it said, tilting its head. “Living in your little bubble? Hmm? What’s the weather like? Is it…terribly warm?”

As it spoke, Harrius realised that he was, in fact, getting pretty warm. Sweat was breading on his forehead, and dripping down into his eyes. He felt Hermione shift her focus, as the barrier grew thicker and more compact. 

Beyond the barrier, the floor was visibly starting to heat up. The puddles of water boiled into steam, and the tiles began to crack and glow at their edges. The cubicle doors began to smoke, and one caught alight. If not for the barrier, the heat would have been unbearable.

Hermione threw another sink at the thing, but it barely noticed. 

“You cannot win against me,” the thing said. It had at least five mouths now, each larger and toothier than the last, and drool dripping down its front and sizzled on the floor. “You might as well give in,” it said, in hideous harmony. “Give in to the warp! Let it pour through you! Become one with it! Let your soul sing like a bright, beautiful beacon!”

The tiles on the floor were now glowing with heat, and the room was filling with acrid smoke. Inside the dome, the temperature was steady creeping upwards. The air was hot like an oven, and Harrius felt his eyeballs starting to dry out. He caused another pipe to burst, but it just filled the room with more steam.

They were running out time. Harrius’ plan had to work now, or they were dead – but so far, he hadn’t reached far enough. He needed to reach further, much further. 

“Hermione,” he croaked. “I’m about to do something – but it needs a lot of power. I’m going to have to divert from the barrier, for a few seconds.”

“What?” Hermione hissed. “But..!”

“I know,” Harrius said. “It’s…gonna be bad. But I can’t see another way…”

“OK,” Hermione said, and she grit her teeth. “Then do it.”

Harrius reached up and broke a pipe, directly over where they stood. Then, as water sizzled around them, he channelled every shred of power into himself. 

The barrier vanished, and the heat hit them. The creature cackled in triumph, and beneath their feet, the tiles glowed cherry red. It was agonising, unbearable. Harrius screamed, unleashing the power. He felt it surge outwards, shattering all in its path, and then suck back inwards…

The heat was too much. He brought the barrier back up. He hoped what he’d done was enough, because the barrier was barely helping now. The heat was inside, and all around them. Desperately, Harrius channelled the heat away, but he was fighting a losing battle. Gasping, he fell to his knees. The floor seared his skin, the pain incredible, and he struggled upright again.

“YOUR POWER WANES!” the creature crowed, looming over the flickering barrier. “You must draw more! Open your soul to its fullest!”

“No,” Harrius whispered through his teeth.

“Then fade away, just as your power does,” the creature said. “I feel it going, going – and with it, your resolve!”

“No,” Harrius said again.

The creature paused, and then cocked its head. It no longer resembled anything human, but rather a pillar of twitching blue-grey limbs and eyeballs and mouths. 

“Where DID it go?” it asked, eyeballs rolling back and forth. “Where did you send your power, Harrius~?”

Harrius could not respond. It was so hot that he was struggling to breathe. Wheezing, he fell forwards onto his hands, unable to get back up despite the searing pain.

“Ah well,” the thing said. “It matters not! You are mine. No-one can save you. Not you, and certainly not your pathetic Emperor.”

“No,” Harrius gasped. Beside him, Ron had stopped chanting, and Hermione had slumped forwards. 

“So, you agree then~?” the thing cackled, reaching out with one of its talons. 

“No,” Harrius whispered. “You’re wrong.”

“Hmm?” the creature paused. Then it twitched, and shrieked in rage. 

“What did you DO?!” it screamed. 

“Got help,” Harrius said.

As he spoke, he felt it – the awful, gut wrenching, soul crushing feeling of a null aura. But this time, for the first time ever, he welcomed the feeling wholeheartedly. 

“Here come the wardens,” he whispered, the ghost of a grin on his face. “Try and pyromancer your way past ten of them, you eyeball fuck.”

And using his last available power, he shattered one last pipe, and collapsed into the fizzling water as the blackness overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1 - things were going too well, time for a little bit of c h a o s
> 
> Note 2 - Who are the wardens anyway? They’re not from 40k canon, but in my head they’re a security force of psychic blanks, who are not quite powerful enough to get into the sisters of silence or the culexus temple etc. They work closely with the Scholastica Psykana, but are actually employed by the Ordos Hereticus, to whom they directly report. Their role is to make sure the filthy witches don’t get up to too much heresy behind closed doors – and if they see anything fucky, they are authorised to shoot on sight, no questions asked.


	21. Hospitalised

White light. Curtains. Pain, blunt but persistent. 

Harrius’ thoughts came slow, drifting into focus like wisps of cloud, insubstantial and ever changing. The bed on which he lay was hard, and sometimes the light was so bright it hurt. Shadows moved around him, voices echoing from a great distance. 

Everything was white – the ceiling above, the starched sheet below, the loose smock draped around his body. There were bandages along his arms and legs, and snaking tubes, running in and out and all over, pulsing with clear or coloured fluids. Beside him, a looming machine beeped rhythmically.

His consciousness faded in and out, plunging him into merciful darkness, before dragging him back into the agonizing light. Everything hurt, but his arms and legs were the worst. He could not move them without the sensation of hundred small knives across his skin. He wished he did not have them, that he could be freed of their burden. 

With each waking, his consciousness grew stronger, his thoughts more coherent. He was in hospital, he knew that now. He had been badly injured. It took him a while to remember what had happened, but slowly it came back to him, startling him with each new vivid fragments. Wailing klaxons. Overwhelming fear. A severed arm a pool of blood. Markus, but not.

He had survived, that much was apparent. His plan had worked. The wardens had arrived in time, and not-Markus was surely dead. 

Harrius shuddered at the mere memory of the horrifically mutating creature. What was it? What had happened to Markus? 

Harrius’ thoughts were too fuzzy to fully consider the question, and he soon let it go, drifting away again into shallow, disturbed dreams. Time passed, and eventually Harrius became aware that someone had come in through the curtain around his bed.

A light was switched on, and he slowly opened his eyes. Next to him, a uniformed figure bent and fiddled with some of the tubes – before suddenly exclaiming. 

“By the Emperor’s holy light! You’re awake?”

Harrius swallowed dryly, and turned his head to look at the Hospitaller nurse. As she loomed closer, he thought he recognised her, but he couldn’t remember what her name was.

The nurse shone a small light into Harrius’ eyes and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You ARE awake,” she said. “HOW, I don’t know. You’re on enough sedatives to knock out a grox! Should have been asleep for at least two more days!”

She frowned at Harrius. “You’re not a biomancer, are you?”

Harrius very slightly shook his head. 

“Hum,” the nurse said. She picked up a dataslate from the end of his bed and poked at the screen. 

“Potter, Harrius,” she muttered. “Pyrokine – yes, that’s what I thought! Homeworld – Halos. What’s Halos like, young man?”

Harrius worked his mouth a few times. His throat felt raw. “Damp,” he managed.

“I see” the nurse said. “It’s possible that your homeworld has given you some sort of natural resistance against certain classes of sedative. But no matter – I shall use a different one. We can’t have you lying awake while your grafts are setting, can we!”

“Grafts?” Harrius croaked.

“Yes,” the nurse said. “Your legs and arms were badly burned. But don’t worry, we’ve replaced the damaged material with synth-skin! You’ll be back in fighting shape in no time.”

“Synth-skin?” Harrius said. 

The nurse did not reply. She had taken out a sealed vial and was carefully filling a syringe with its contents.

As she leant over to inject it into one of the tubes, Harrius twitched. 

“Stop that,” the nurse scolded. 

“Sorry,” Harrius mumbled. “I just…are…Ron and…Hermione…?”

“Your little friends are fine, stop wriggling,” the nurse said. “Both in hospital, like you, but I’m certain they’ll make a full recovery.”

“Oh…good,” Harrius breathed.

He closed his eyes again, as the blackness came back, threatening to drag him under. He was only vaguely aware of the light turning off again as the nurse left the room. 

***

Later he awoke again, to see that the nurse was back. She had unwrapped the bandages of his left arm and was carefully prodding at the skin, bending each finger and twisting the wrist. This time, there was no pain – instead, Harrius’ arms and legs felt entirely numb. He was, however, startled to see that his hand and forearm were snow-white in colour and slightly translucent, the skin entirely smooth between neat rows of black stitches. The usual lines in his palm were gone, replaced by a flat plane, through which thin, bluish veins could be seen. It was disconcerting to say the least.

On seeing that he was the awake again, the nurse looked startled, before shaking her head in amusement. 

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you?” she said. “Won’t stay asleep! No matter – we’ll just increase the dose again.”

She began filling another syringe.

“Since you’re awake,” she said, “you’ll be pleased to know that your grafts are healing nicely. A couple more days, and we can officially wake you up.”

“It’s…white,” Harrius said, eyeing his left hand.

“Only temporarily,” the nurse said. “Give it a month or two, and it will be back to its usual colour. You won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Good,” Harrius mumbled. 

He watched as the nurse administered yet more sedatives. He wanted to tell her about the time he was forced to sleep for two months straight – but he couldn’t quite find the words, and soon his eyes were too heavy to keep open.

***

The next time he woke, it was quiet. His mind felt clearer, and the pain in his limbs had reduced to a dull throb.

It was impossible to tell the time of day, and Harrius had no idea how long he’d been in the hospital anyway. In their bandages, his hands still felt like lumps of xenos flesh, but he could move them, although it still hurt to do so.

There was nothing to do except lay there and think. He thought over the incident, and the Markus monster, and he wondered how his friends were doing. Did they also have synth-skin grafts? Were they worse off, or better off than he was? He hoped they were better. 

For the first time, he also began to wonder how much trouble he was going to be in, once they released him from hospital. He and his friends had broken a lot of rules, and even though most of them had been to save their own lives, he was worried the Scholastica wouldn’t see it that way.

While these thoughts occupied his mind, he became aware of footsteps approaching, and the sound of low voices. The voices stopped right outside of his curtain.

“He’s in here?” one of the voices said. With a jolt, Harrius recognised it as Professor McGonagall.

“Yes,” an unfamiliar voice replied. “Healing well. On schedule to be woken tomorrow.” 

There was a soft hiss of metal rings sliding as the curtain was pulled aside. Harrius lay completely still.

“No sign of corruption?” McGonagall said quietly. 

“No physical mutation reported,” the unfamiliar voice said. 

The curtain was drawn again.

“Of course, his mental state is another question,” the unknown voice continued.

“Indeed, and he shall be interrogated upon waking,” McGonagall said. “We shall know then.”

Harrius gulped. Interrogated?? 

“What is the expected result?” the unknown voice asked. “I would imagine the chances of corruption are high.”

“Perhaps,” McGonagall said. “Although I urge you not to condemn them just yet. These students have displayed great aptitude and strength of will in their classes. I have faith in them.”

“Your faith is premature,” a third voice said. Harrius recognised it as Snape’s. “Until proven otherwise, they cannot be trusted. It seems unlikely that three phase-one Sanctionites were able to face down a daemon and escape with their lives – not unless the daemon willed it.”

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” McGonagall said. “We do not yet know exactly what transpired.”

“That may be so,” Snape continued, “but even if the students remain untainted, it is still an issue that they observed the daemon at all. That information is prohibited to them.”

“Well, yes, that cannot be helped,” McGonagall said. “However, might I remind you that it is only a matter of time until they are told of these things anyway.”

“It is too early,” Snape said. “They are too young. Their minds are not equipped to deal with such knowledge. In fact, it is my opinion that it would be better for them if we were to entirely remove their memories of the incident-”

“Absolutely not,” McGonagall said. “If they are untainted, then removing the memory, risking irreversible brain damage in the process, would be a DISGUSTING waste of talent. These children survived something that many adult psykers could not. They are strong, stronger than you think. It is my belief that if they are taught at this young age of the true dangers of the warp, and trained to deal with that knowledge, then there is every chance they will only emerge stronger! Emperor knows we need more psykers who can deal with daemons without immediately breaking down or fleeing in panic!”

“Perhaps,” Snape said. 

“What is more concerning is that the daemon got in at all,” McGonagall said. “It’s been over one hundred years since the last incident like this. Not since the Pylon was installed…” 

“A freak occurrence, then?” the unknown voice said. 

“We certainly hope so,” McGonagall said. “Obviously, the Hereticus have been informed, and we suspect they will send someone to look into it – although when exactly that will happen is, as usual, a mystery. In the meantime, we are questioning everyone who had close contact with the student in the weeks prior to the incident…”

The voices began to move off – and as they moved out of hearing behind the snap of a closing door, Harrius let out a long breath.

He knew that he had just overheard something he wasn’t supposed to – but what could he do? It wasn’t his fault they decided to converse right outside his curtain. It wasn’t like he could leave!

But what a conversation it had been! Markus, turned into a daemon?

Harrius had heard of daemons before, but hadn’t thought they were actually real. His aunt had sometimes told him that daemons would gobble him up, if he didn’t finish all of his greystalk, or if his cupboard got too messy, but he’d assumed it was an empty threat.

But now, here were three perfectly respectable adults talking about daemons as if they were not only real, but a considerable menace. And if the thing which Markus had turned into was indeed a daemon, then Harrius agreed that they were extremely menacing.

With this knowledge however, Harrius found that he only had more questions than before. If Markus became a daemon, then how had that happened? Was it something which could just happen to anyone? Or had Markus chosen it? Harrius wasn’t sure which was worse. 

On top of this, Harrius would be interrogated tomorrow – and if he answered the questions wrong, then things would surely go badly for him. He spent the next few hours fretting over excuses and formulating answers for questions that he might be asked. Eventually, he fell asleep – but it was a sleep full of stress dreams and pain from his burns and he didn’t enjoy it at all. 

***

The next day, Harrius woke up and immediately worked himself into a state of terror. He barely touched the bland food that the nurse brought in for him, and when she asked him questions about how he was feeling, his answers were monosyllabic. 

After hours of stressful waiting, Professor McGonagall came in, along with a warden – and Harrius jolted upright. 

“P-professor,” he squeaked. 

“Harrius,” Professor McGonagall said calmly. “Don’t try and sit up – I’m just here to see how you are.”

“O-oh,” Harrius said. He glanced around, but aside from the warden, McGonagall had apparently come alone. He felt a little relieved at this – he’d been worried that Snape would come and insist on wiping his memory. 

McGonagall brought in a chair from beyond the curtain, sat down in it, and smiled at Harrius. The warden went and stood in the back corner, silent and still. Harrius tried his best to act natural.

“How are you feeling?” McGonagall asked.

“Um,” Harrius said. “Alright, I suppose.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes, a bit. But it’s, um, getting better.”

“I’m glad to hear it. How are you feeling, emotionally speaking?”

“Umm,” Harrius said. “Well, I don’t really like being in hospital, and the skin grafts are really weird. But the nurse says I’m healing quickly, so it’ll probably turn out OK?”

McGonagall nodded at him, but didn’t say anything. 

“Umm,” Harrius glanced at her. “I guess…I also have a lot of questions.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows rose. “About what?”

“About…what happened. On Sanguinala eve.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” McGonagall said.

Harrius swallowed. “Umm. Markus turned into a bunch of eyeballs, and tried to kill us?”

The warden shifted slightly, and McGonagall glanced at them and back again.

“So, you knew it was Markus Flint?” she said, leaning forwards.

“Yeah. When I first saw him I recognised him, before he started, um…melting.”

“And how did you feel about seeing him?”

“Well, I ran away,” Harrius said. “He was really scary. Not just in appearance – I think there was more to it. His entire aura was scary.”

“So you felt fear?”

“Yeah. And disgust. He was disgusting, in, in a sort of psychic way.” Harrius shuddered.

McGonagall nodded. “So, what did you do?”

Harrius took a breath, and then explained how they’d formed a Choir and attempted to fight off the monster. He spoke of Markus’ enhanced power, and how he’d realised that their only hope of survival was to bring in reinforcements. 

“And how did you do that?” McGonagall asked.

“I followed the wires in the ceiling,” Harrius said. “They’re easy to find, because they’re all the same temperature, and they run in continuous lines. I figured that if I sent a pulse along every wire nearby, it would, um, cause the light fixtures to break.”

“Indeed,” McGonagall said, sounding amused. 

“So I sent out a pulse of heat,” Harrius said. “And then, I pulled all the energy back again – but I converted it to telekinetic. I was hoping it would catch some of the falling glass, and pull it inwards, towards where we were. That way the wardens would see it, and come towards us…”

“Indeed,” McGonagall said again. “And that is exactly what happened. You will be pleased to know that most of the walls on the ground floor were bristling with small shards of glass and flotsam. It took us several days to remove it all, and replace the broken fixtures.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “S-sorry.”

McGonagall waved a hand – and moved on to the next set of questions. She asked him about his private classes with Markus, and whether the prefect had been acting strange. Harrius said he hadn’t, although he had cancelled a few classes recently, for reasons which in retrospect sounded suspiciously made-up.

A few questions later, McGonagall paused to pour herself some water – and Harrius cleared his throat. 

“Professor?” he asked quickly. “How…how did Markus get like that? What happened to him?”

McGonagall let out a sigh.

“Well,” she said quietly. “I suppose it’s better you find out from me, than from some other source. Simply put, Markus was possessed by a daemon.”

“O-oh,” Harrius said. “Um. What does that mean? What IS a daemon? I didn’t think they were real.”

“They’re certainly real,” McGonagall frowned. “Again, to put it simply, they are warp predators. They prey on the weak-minded and the foolish, with the goal of manifesting themselves in realspace. Once in realspace, they delight in causing chaos and suffering.”

“Oh,” Harrius said.

“Unfortunately, psykers are particularly susceptible to daemonic influence,” McGonagall went on. “Our strong connection to the immaterium means contact is nigh inevitable. This is why psykers must display exemplary strength of will, Harrius. The weak-willed psyker is naught but a chalice for corruption and daemonic possession.”

Harrius gulped. “I had no idea that there were things living in the warp!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say “living” exactly,” McGonagall said. “But they are there, yes.”

“And that’s what happened to Markus?” Harrius said. “A daemon got him?”

“Evidently.” 

“Can it just randomly happen to anyone?” Harrius said, eyes wide.

“Yes, and no,” McGonagall said. “Yes, it can happen to anyone. But it is not entirely random – the vessel must be willing.”

“Willing?” Harrius wrinkled his nose. “They WANT to daemon to possess them?? Why would anyone want that?”

“Daemons can be very persuasive,” McGonagall said. “They promise things – power, glory, riches, whatever the heart desires. All lies, of course – but there are always fools who listen. And once they have weakened their prey’s resolve enough, the daemon will invade them, irreversibly corrupting them, body, mind and soul.

“Anyway,” she leaned back in her chair, “this is a conversation for another day. You shall be taught of daemons in time. For now, you are a phase-one Sanctionite, and the knowledge is not your burden to bear. In fact – you are not to mention it to your peers. At all. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes ma’am,” Harrius said. “Um. Not even Ron and Hermione?”

McGonagall pursed her lips. “Not even them – especially not where others might hear.”

She took another sip of water, eyeing Harrius. 

“I must admit,” she said, “I am impressed. There are very few eleven-year-olds who could take on a daemon and escape mostly intact. What you and your friends did is no small feat. However…”

Her face became more stern. “I have one last question,” she said. “Why were you and your friends in the corridors at all? You should have been in the courtyard, with everyone else. In fact, I distinctly remember seeing you in Mess Hall A, right before the evacuation.”

Harrius’ stomach dropped. He’d been dreading this question from the start. The many cover stories he’d formulated rushed through his mind all at once, and each sounded more ridiculous than the last.  
With a sigh, he decided that the truth was best, and reluctantly, he told Professor McGonagall about the rescue mission. Recounting it now, the entire thing sounded incredibly foolhardy. 

“I hope you realise how dangerous and irresponsible this was,” McGonagall said once he was finished.

Harrius hung his head. 

“You directly disobeyed orders, and led yourself and your friends into mortal peril,” McGonagall continued. “You understand that I cannot let this insubordination and endangerment of life go unpunished?”

“Yes ma’am,” Harrius whispered.

“You and Ronaldius will both be receiving detention,” McGonagall said. “For forty days, commencing once you are deemed fully healed from your wounds. You shall use your after-dinner free time to scrub the halls and mop the floors. Hermione will receive a lighter sentence of twenty days, since she was involved only accidentally. Additionally, fifty House points shall be taken from you, and also Ronaldius.”

Harrius winced. “Yes ma’am,” he said. 

“However,” McGonagall continued after a pause. “It cannot be denied that what you did was impressive. All three of you demonstrated your competence as burgeoning Imperial psykers under extreme pressure. You used what you have been taught in classes, and improvised further, to defeat a truly treacherous foe. And for this, I award all three of you thirty House Points each.”

Harrius blinked at her in surprise. This meant that in total, only ten points had been lost – far less grievous than he’d been expecting.

“With that, I shall take my leave,” McGonagall said, and she stood up. “Harrius, I wish you a swift recovery. And Harrius?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“I'm glad to see that you are still you.”

Then, as Harrius blinked at her dazedly, she turned and left, and the warden went with her.


	22. An Interesting Coincidence

Harrius stayed in the hospital for another week, while the synth-skin finished melding with his flesh. The nurse, Roslyn, checked on him often, changing his bandages, and applying counterseptics or sanctified balms. 

As the pain slowly faded, the boredom became the worst part. Perseus made sure to bring Harrius the homework he was missing – but there were still too many hours of the day when Harrius had nothing to do. 

The best part was when visitors came by and distracted him. Neville smuggled snacks in each time he came by, and Dean and Seamus told Harrius all about the classes he was missing. Parvati brought him a small bunch of droopy get-well flowers, and once, Hagrid dropped by with Norbet.

Harrius often wondered how Ron and Hermione were doing, and he usually asked his visitors if they knew. He was told that they were awake and recovering, although just as trussed up in bandages as him. Hermione was apparently annoyed that she was missing classes, while Ron hated the hospital food, and said as much to anyone who would listen. Harrius was glad to hear they were both alright. 

Finally, the week was over, and Harrius’ bandages were removed for the last time. The synth-skin was still too pale, and the texture was off – but it had sealed neatly with Harrius’ natural skin and was perfectly functional. Harrius bounced out of bed and got into his uniform, before following Perseus down to the Raptora common room.

It felt very strange to be dropped back into the middle of things. Harrius showed off his injuries to what felt like hundreds of people, explaining over and over the ‘official’ version of events, provided to him by Professor McGonagall. Ron and Hermione were also released, but Harrius couldn’t find a moment to talk to them alone – and then they were all sent to afternoon classes. The very first was maths, and Harrius got severe educational whiplash when Snape got straight back into bombarding him with questions. 

It wasn’t until breakfast the following morning that Harrius, Ron and Hermione were left to themselves, and could finally talk about what had happened. They had all been expressly forbidden from talking about daemons – but with thinly veiled euphemisms, anything was possible. 

They compared injuries, and griped about the hospital, before moving on to the more serious topic of what they referred to as Eyeball Markus. McGonagall had told each of them the exact same information, almost word for word, regarding the incident and the nature of daemons. Harrius and Hermione had been shocked to find out there were malicious entities floating around in the Immeterium – but Ron said he’d known about them already, in a vague sort of way. 

“You don’t grow up in a family of psykers, and not know certain things,” he said. “Although no-one ever explained to me what they were. And I certainly never saw one before…”

“Well, I hope I never see one again,” Harrius said firmly.

“Me too – but I wouldn’t bet on it,” Ron said. “It’s an occupational hazard. And anyway, Harrius, with your luck, you’ll bump into five of them before the end of the year! Along with ten more creepy books, eight xeno lizards, and probably a horde of orks hiding in a broom closet.”

Harrius frowned. 

“Oh no,” Ron eyed him. “I just saw you have an idea.”

“That book,” Harrius said. “Markus was there when I saw it!”

“And?” Ron said.

“And, Markus read bits of it. Then, a few months later, he turns into Eyeball Markus. You don’t think that’s related, do you?”

“Do you think it is?” Hermione leaned in. 

“Kinda, yeah,” Harrius said. “Think about it – the book had a warpy aura, and it grew a mouth, and tried to convince me to read it. Eyeball Markus also had a warpy aura, and grew lots of mouths, and tried to convince us of all kinds of things…”

Ron and Hermione both stared at him.

“Professor McGonagall mentioned that Eyeballs are very persuasive,” Hermione said.

“Are you saying,” Ron said, “that the Eyeball was inside the book? Then it moved into Markus??”

“Something like that,” Harrius said. “Markus told me he gave the book to Snape, but I bet he kept it. He probably had it in his room for ages, and it kept talking to him, and eventually it convinced him to let it in…” 

“Throne, this is really serious,” Hermione said. “What if that book is still around? Will the same thing happen?”

“Maybe,” Harrius said. “In fact, someone else might have found it already…”

“We should tell Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said. “She needs to know about this!”

“Yeah, we should tell her,” Harrius said.

None of them knew where Professor McGonagall spent her time outside of class – but fortunately there was a Practical scheduled for later that afternoon. They waited until the end, before approaching McGonagall, their faces serious. 

McGonagall turned and peered at them from over her glasses. “Yes, what is it, you three?”

“Professor,” Hermione said. “We think we know where the dae…what happened to Markus.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up. She glanced around, then gestured for them to follow her. 

“Explain yourself,” she said, once they were all inside an empty room, with the door firmly closed.

Hermione nudged Harrius.

“Um,” Harrius said. “I saw this weird book, a few months ago, and I’m pretty sure it was evil.”

“Oh?” McGonagall said. “What made you think that?”

“It was just the feeling I got,” Harrius shrugged. “Also, it grew a mouth and started talking.”

McGonagall’s eyes bulged. “Talking?” she said sharply. “What…what did it say?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” Harrius said. “But it wanted me to read it.”

“And did you?”

“No! It was really creepy! I ran away.”

“Good,” McGonagall breathed. “Harrius – why did you not report this sooner?”

“Well,” Harrius said, “Markus was also there, and he told me that he reported it. But…I don’t think he did. And then, well, look what happened…”

McGonagall rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Emperor preserve us,” she muttered. Pulling up a chair, she sat, and brought a small dataslate out of her pocket.

“You had better start from the beginning,” she said.

Harrius described the entire encounter with the battered diary in Snape’s classroom. Occasionally, McGonagall interrupted him to ask a question, but mostly she sat and listened in silence, typing notes into her dataslate.

Once Harrius was done, she scrolled back through her notes, her expression grim.

“Josie Leviticus,” she read. “You’re certain that was the name in the diary?”

“Yes,” Harrius said. “Very certain. I remembered it because it’s the same name as this witch-girl who died from my homeworld.”

“That is…an interesting coincidence,” McGonagall said. “Remind me, which was your homeworld?”

“Halos,” Harrius said. “Cassiopeian sector.”

“I see,” McGonagall said. “Well, the name is not that uncommon…”

She stood and put the dataslate away. 

“Well, I am glad you told me about this,” she said. “Even if it was a little late. It is the duty of all upstanding Imperial citizen to report such suspicious sightings or activity to their superiors. Well done. Twenty points to Raptora. And if you see anything else, remember to report it immediately, and in person. You two as well,” she eyed Ron and Hermione. 

“Yes, ma’am,” they said. 

“Good,” McGonagall said. “That will be all then. Oh – and just a little reminder, you are not to talk of this matter any further. It is not your place to worry about it. Just stay vigilant, and let the adults handle it, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused. 

Despite what McGonagall had said though, Harrius continued to think about the diary for the rest of the afternoon. In particular, he thought about the name Josie Leviticus. McGonagall had called it an interesting coincidence – but he wasn’t so sure that was all it was. 

It matched too perfectly. The Josie from Halos had been a latent psyker, who Harrius was now fairly sure had been possessed by a daemon. The diary had shared not only the name, but also the daemonic element, and its voice had distinctly been that of a young girl.

There was just one problem. If the diary had belonged to Halosian Josie, then how had it travelled half-way across the galaxy, and ended up on Terra, in the same room as Harrius?

He asked Hermione what she thought over dinner, and she wrinkled her nose.

“It seems extremely unlikely to me, that they would be the same person,” she said. “It’s much more likely that it’s a different Josie Leviticus. I’m sure there are millions of them in the galaxy. Probably hundreds, just on Terra alone.” 

“And anyway,” she added, “we’re not supposed to talk about it.”

“I know,” Harrius sighed, “but it’s bothering me. It just CAN’T be a coincidence!”

“It can,” Hermione said. “Statistically, unlikely things do sometimes happen.”

“Well, why can’t my thing be right, then?”

“Harrius, let it go. I’m sure that the diary you saw belonged to a previous Psykana student.”

“Maybe,” Harrius mumbled.

He refused to let it go though – he was still thinking about it after dinner, when he and half of the Raptora cohort went up to the second-floor library to do their evening homework. They had started going there every night, after discovered that the library had much nicer furniture than the common room. Also, it was a lot easier to concentrate on a worksheet when Dean or Seamus weren’t pelting small, loose items over everyone’s heads.

As Harrius sat and stared at his Astro-geography worksheet however, he instead came up with an idea. He was sure that Josie Leviticus wasn’t just some former student – and he had a way to test it. Without a word, he stood up from the table and walked over to the admin desk.

“I would like to borrow a book,” he told the administrator on duty. 

The administrator, a gaunt man with round glasses, tapped his augmetic hand on the desk. Each of his fingers was a different writing implement. “Can you be more specific?” he asked flatly.

“I’m not sure what it’s called,” Harrius said, “but I do know who borrowed it last. Does that help?”

“I can examine the database for you,” the administrator said. He flipped open the tip of his thumb, and pulled out a long wire, which he plugged into a cogitator. “What is the name?” 

“Josie Leviticus,” Harrius said.

The administrator eyed the screen, green numbers and letters scrolling upwards in the reflection of his glasses. There was a long pause, and his brow wrinkled slightly. 

“May I ask how that name is spelt?” he said. 

Harrius borrowed a nearby stylus and wrote it down on a scrap of paper. “I think that’s it,” he said. The administrator looked at it and pursed his lips. 

“Are you quite sure that is the student’s name?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, that can’t be right.”

“Why not?” Harrius asked, trying his best not to look extremely interested.

“Well, according to library records, spanning five hundred years, there has never been a student of that name at Branch H.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “Oh, what a shame. Well, I guess that isn’t her name then! Sorry for bothering you!” He promptly turned around and went back to his table.

“Josie Leviticus isn’t a former student,” he hissed to Hermione. “I checked!”

“Oh?” she said. “Well…I still think it’s unlikely that the diary came here all the way from Halos.”

“Unlikely, yes,” Harrius said, “but not impossible! What if someone brought it with them?”

“Who?” Hermione said.

“I don’t know. Maybe the only other Halosian here, aside from me?”

Hermione frowned. “Draco?”

“Maybe,” Harrius said. “Spending time around an evil book might explain why he’s so annoying!”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione said. “There’s no way he could have brought that diary along with him on the Blackship. They would have found and confiscated it.”

“Would they have?” Harrius said. “What if the diary convinced them not to?”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment – but was distracted when Parvati leaned over to ask a question about the homework. Harrius, however, felt sure he was onto something.

There was no evidence though, and nothing he could really do. It was as McGonagall had said earlier – it was not his place to worry about it. He could only watch and wait, and hope that the adults did, in fact, handle it. 

***

It was 03:15 in the morning when the dorm lights turned on.

Harrius woke, frowning and rubbing his eyelids. There were noises in the corridor, footsteps, and doors banging open. Blearily, he reached for his glasses and sat up. 

“Wass goin’ on?” he heard Ron say from the bunk below. 

The door to their dorm slammed open, and Perseus stuck his head in. He looked even grumpier than usual, and his hair was sticking up at the back.

“Random inspection,” he barked. “Get up, and get out into the common room! Quick now! Don’t bother getting dressed!”

“Wha-?” Harrius said.

Perseus withdrew, and a pair of wardens appeared at the door. One of them was holding a canid on a leash, big and mean, with black-and-tan fur. 

Ron squeaked in fear, and hurriedly got out of his bunk. Harrius quickly followed suit. As they scuttled to the door, they saw the first warden yank open the wardrobe, and begin pulling everything out onto the floor. They had to skirt past the second warden with the canid. The big animal lifted its lip menacingly as they passed, huge white teeth on display. 

The common room was full of confused students in pyjamas, huddling together in small groups, most of them still half asleep. Shortly, Perseus came back and began yelling them into shape. He got them to stand in a row with their back to the wall, before counting them to make sure they were all present. 

“What’s happening?” Ron whispered to Harrius, when Perseus wasn’t looking.

“I think,” Harrius said, “I think they’re looking for the diary...”

“Oh, great,” Ron said. “So, this is all our fault, then?”

“Shhh,” Harrius said.

They watched in silence as the wardens went over every centimetre of the Raptora dorm, opening cupboards, flipping through books, dumping out storage boxes, and even rolling up the rug. They reshuffled all the furniture, and stripped the drawings and posters off the walls, ripping some in the process. On the other side of Ron, Neville was looking close to tears – many of the drawings were his. 

Occasionally, one of the wardens handed an item they’d found to Perseus, and he would turn it around with a sneer of distaste, before asking who it belonged to. Most of the items were small toys, notes, or shiny rocks, which the students had squirreled away under the mattress or at the back of the wardrobe. Others were clearly stolen, or embarrassing and incriminating in some way.

Perseus was ruthless. If no-one stepped forwards to claim the item, he would start taking away House Points. Sometimes, he took away House Points regardless. Once claimed, he would almost always declare the item ‘confiscated’ and toss it into a waiting trash can.

In a state of helpless dismay, the students watched as all of their secrets were dragged unceremoniously into the open. Harrius was caught out when the wardens found his emergency snack stash – but he resignedly stepped forwards and admitted it was his. 

“No food is allowed in the dorms,” Perseus snapped at him. “Confiscated!” 

He didn’t take away points though, and Harrius quietly sank back into the line. 

After what felt like hours, the wardens finally finished their search and, as suddenly as they’d arrived, they all left. The dorm rooms were a mess in their wake – and Perseus made the students clean them before they were allowed to go back to bed. 

Naturally, everyone was in a foul mood after that, which persisted well into the morning.

“I hope they at least found the bloody diary,” Ron said over breakfast, stabbing his toast with a butter knife. “After all that trouble!”

“If it was in someone’s room, then they found it,” Harrius said.

There was no way of telling though either way. There were no announcements, and wardens weren’t saying anything to anyone. In fact, nothing perceptibly changed at all. 

Harrius hoped that they had found the diary and destroyed it. But he had a dreadful feeling that they hadn’t.


	23. Detention

Weeks passed, classes continued, and Harrius kept an eye out for anything strange. He would often peer into empty classrooms when he passed, or absently rifle through stacks of books, just in case. But he didn’t see the diary again – if it was still around, then it was apparently keeping to itself. 

His stay in the hospital had disrupted Harrius’ study habits, but it didn’t take long before he was stressing over the next quiz along with everyone else. His pyromancy classes also resumed, with the new Pyrae prefect, Terence Higgs. Terence wasn’t half as friendly or talkative as Markus, but he was decent enough as a tutor.

When the next joint Practical was announced, Raptora versus Pavoni, everyone was excited. Neither Raptora nor Pavoni had yet lost a match, and thus whoever won would receive the informal title of Champion, along with Bragging Rights.

In the lead up to the match, the phase one Raptora and Pavoni Sanctionites heckled each other whenever they passed in the corridor – although unlike with Pyrae, the rivalry was good natured. Pavoni were in general a friendly, cool-headed bunch, who could get along with pretty much anyone. There were rumours that this was because they could manipulate their own mood, and thus remain calm and happy at all times. There were also rumours that they could do the same to other people in their presence, which was why everyone liked them. Pavoni House denied any such accusations. 

Nevertheless, playing ‘basketball’ against Pavoni was a disconcerting experience. To the vast majority of the Imperium, all psykers were considered weird and unnatural – but even other psykers found biomancers a little disturbing.   
They could manipulate their muscle mass, tailoring their athleticism to match any situation. They could enhance their senses to superhuman levels, or cause grievous wounds to appear or re-seal. The more talented among them could warp their very skin and bone, rearranging their skeleton, or shifting their face to perfectly mimic someone else. On a battlefield, they were terrifying, shooting bursts of bio-lightning from their hands or causing organs to rupture from thirty metres away. 

In psychic basketball, they thankfully weren’t allowed to use their powers on their opponents. But Raptora still had to watch as the Pavoni students squelchily transformed themselves into a series of very tall, stretched-out kids with enormous hands for blocking the hoop or huge, muscular legs for leaping five metres into the air. 

Harrius spent the game trying his best to float the ball past these unsettling creatures, which were literally the peak performance of basketballers. The girl he was against was at least very sporting – her name was Susan Bones, which Harrius thought apt, considering that her arms were two-metre pillars of skeleton and gristle.

The game was fast paced and extremely close – but in the end, Pavoni won, by two points. They were gracious winners, beaming and shaking everyone’s hand (their own hands back to normal) – but Raptora still felt disappointed.

To further add to his own disappointment, Harrius was approached by Professor McGonagall later that evening, and reminded that his forty days of detention were to commence the following Monday. 

Harrius had almost forgotten about his upcoming punishment, and the reminder was a slap in the face. He spent the weekend grumbling about it with Ron, who would be sharing the same miserable fate. 

On Monday evening, after a rushed dinner and an even more rushed homework session, they went to waited dejectedly outside the dorm. They were both already tired after a long day of classes, and the prospect of yet more work was extremely disheartening. They had not been told who would come and collect them, or what they would be doing, but it would surely be some grisly chore that no-one else wanted to do.

To their surprise, it was Hagrid who appeared.

Harrius blinked at her. “Hagrid? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m supervisin’ yer detention, aren’t I,” Hagrid said.

“Really?” Harrius said. “Oh, good!”

“Don’ yer get too happy about it,” Hagrid said. “We’re goin’ ter be doin’ some hard work!”

But she smiled as she said it, and Harrius couldn’t help but grin back.

“Right,” Hagrid said, and gestured that they should follow her. “We’re goin’ ter be moppin’ some floors – but firs’ we gotta go an’ get some extra mops out o’ storage.”

Harrius and Ron followed as she led the way downstairs. Then, as she turned down a very familiar short corridor, they looked at each other meaningfully. 

“This ‘ere is the basement,” Hagrid said mildly, taking out her keys. “Yer not allowed down there, least not by yerself. Yer fine with me, though. C’mon.”

“Oh, wow, the basement!” Ron said, a bit too loudly.

“I always wondered what was down here,” Harrius said. “But I never knew!” 

Hagrid gave them a bemused look. “It’s jus’ a basement,” she said. “Nothin’ ter get excited about. Here, this way.”

She led them past the cupboard full of chemicals where they’d hidden last time, and down the hall to the door marked ‘Mops and Brooms’. Whistling tunelessly, she rummaged around inside, emerging with two sets of mops and buckets. 

“Which one do yer want, the red or the blue?” she asked. 

Harrius opened his mouth to reply – but just then, there was a distant, but very distinct, animal roar. 

Hagrid froze, her expression guilty. 

“Ah, ignore that,” she said. 

Harrius took a deep breath, and made a spur of the moment decision. 

“Actually, we already know about the lizard,” he said.

Hagrid stared at him, and her mouth opened and closed. 

“How do yer know about Fluffy?”

“Fluffy??” Harrius said. “It’s called FLUFFY??”

“Yeah,” Hagrid said defensively. “That’s what I call ‘im, anyway. He’s not so bad, once yer get ter know ‘im.”

Harrius and Ron gave her a doubtful look.

“He’s only makin’ noise ‘cause he heard me whistlin’,” Hagrid said. “Thinks it’s dinner time.”

“Dinner time?” Ron said. “What does it eat?”

“Oh, scraps o’ meat, bits an’ pieces from the kitchen,” Hagrid waved a hand. “Sometimes, as a treat, I give him a live gallus fowl or two. He loves that.”

“And he doesn’t try and eat you?” Ron said. 

“Naw – he knows me. He knows I’m the one who brings ‘im treats. O’ course, you always gotta be careful with a wild animal like that. Make sure yer treat ‘em right, or they might get snappy and take off yer hand. The secret is, yer gotta show ‘im you’re a friend, an’ gain his trust! Once he trusts yer, Fluffy’s nothin’ but a great big kitty cat!” 

“It doesn’t even have fur,” Ron muttered.

“What type of creature is Fluffy?” Harrius asked curiously. “Where is he from?”

“Oh, he’s a Steropean Witch-killer,” Hagrid said.

Ron made a strangled noise. “Excuse me??”

“Straight outta the psy-jungles of Sterope Prime,” Hagrid went on enthusiastically. “In ‘is natural habitat, he’d spend ‘is days stalking psychic prey through the undergrowth. He can neutralise the prey’s defensive abilities using naturally generated null-bursts. Stuns ‘em flat, and then kills ‘em with ‘is big, powerful jaws! Bite force over four thousand PSI!”

“Emperor on His Throne,” Ron said weakly. “WHY is that thing under the school?”

“Hagrid, why IS it under the school?” Harrius asked.

“Well,” Hagrid said. “Ter be perfectly honestly, I don’t know. It’s not my place ter know. I jus’ look after ‘im.”

“Great,” Ron said.

“And anyways,” Hagrid frowned down at them. “You’re not even supposed ter know he’s there at all. Who told yer?”

“Um,” Harrius said, “there was a rumour going around...”

“Right,” Hagrid said. 

She looked around, and then back at Harrius and Ron, a twinkle in her eye.

“I don’t suppose yer wanna see ‘im, do yer?”

“No!” Ron said, while Harrius said “Yeah!”

“Harrius, it’s called a Witch-killer,” Ron hissed. “We’re witches, remember!”

“It’ll be fine, I trust Hagrid,” Harrius hissed back.

“Just a peep,” Hagrid said, “and yer can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Okay,” Harrius said, and Ron nodded reluctantly. 

Grinning, Hagrid waved for them to follow, and led them to the door with the skull on it. 

“Fluffy, we’ve got visitors~!” she sung cheerfully as she unlocked the door. 

There was a trilling growl from inside. Harrius and Ron stepped well back as Hagrid opened the door and went in. 

“Aw, there he is,” Hagrid cooed. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy, Fluffy? Is it you?”

While she made kissy noises, Harrius moved cautiously towards the door. Peering in, he was greeted with a bizarre sight. The massive reptilian beast was pushing its strange, conical snout into Hagrid’s hands, snuffling happily. 

“There, yer see?” Hagrid beamed at Harrius. “He’s a softie!”

She scratched its colourful crest, and it leaned in, closing its four eyes. Next to Harrius, Ron was shaking his head in disbelief.

Harrius, meanwhile, had noticed something else. Last time he’d been here, it had been under rather stressful circumstances, and he hadn’t seen the door at the far end of the room. It was closed, locked up tight and covered with purity seals. Above it was a metal plaque, with something written in Binary. Harrius squinted to make it out, but it was very small and far away. 

“Hagrid?” he asked. “Where does that door go?”

Hagrid glanced at where he was pointing. “Ah, nowhere,” she said quickly. “Mechanicus business. We’re not allowed down there, are we, Fluffy?”

Harrius frowned, and stepped forwards into the room, trying to read the plaque. As he did so, Fluffy jerked its head out of Hagrid’s hands, and looked at Harrius. Its long tongue flicked in and out and its mouthparts opened threateningly.

“Shhh,” Hagrid said crossly, as Harrius froze. “Harrius is a friend! Harrius, yer have to show ‘im that yer the boss. Stand yer ground!”

“Um, I don’t think he likes me,” Harrius squeaked. 

“Nonsense,” Hagrid said. “He jus’ doesn’t know yer. Here-” 

She reached into her pocket, and dumped a handful of jerky bits into Harrius’ palm. “Give ‘im that!”

“What?” Harrius said in alarm.

“Go on, reach out yer hand and let ‘im sniff it.”

“Umm, I’d rather not? I think he wants to eat me..! Hagrid! Argh!”

Harrius winced as the massive reptile flicked out its tongue, and licked the jerky out of his hand. The jerky disappeared in an instant. Harrius looked giddily down at his hand, which was now covered in slime. 

“See?” Hagrid grinned. “Fluffy’s-”

A shrill noise suddenly rang out, loud and unpleasant. Hagrid’s face fell. Fluffy shook its head and backed away, mouth-parts flaring. 

“Attention,” a harsh, robotic voice said. “Sanctionites are not permitted on the Basement Level! Explain your presence!”

Turning, Harrius saw that a Mechanicus priest had appeared in the doorway. Though most of their face was obscured behind a respirator, they still radiated an intense aura of disapproval.

“Oh, ah,” Hagrid shuffled her feet guiltily. “They’re with me. Sorry about that…”

“Janitor Rubelinia Hagrid, this is highly irregular.”

“Yeah, um,” Hagrid said. “I know, but I…I thought there wouldn’t be any harm in jus’-”

“Sanctionites are not permitted on the Basement Level,” the priest repeated. “Additionally, the Sanctionites are within the sacred radius of the Shrine of Flamel’s Pylon! Janitor Rubelinia Hagrid, do you claim responsibility for these violations?”

“No, wait!” Harrius said. “It’s not Hagrid’s fault that we’re down here! We were doing detention work…”

He trailed off as the priest turned to stare at him with glowing green augmetic eyes. “Silence, first-phase Sanctionite Harrius Potter,” the priest said. “You must return immediately to permitted floors. First-phase Sanctionite Ronaldius Weasley, you must also return to permitted floors. This must happen as soon as possible.”

“I’ll…I’ll take them back upstairs,” Hagrid said meekly.

Shoulders slumped, she locked the skull door, and led Harrius and Ron away. The Mechanicus priest followed behind them, clattering along the floor on what were definitely not a regular number of legs. 

When they reached the basement exit, Hagrid shooed them out. “Go on,” she said sadly. “Detention’s over for today. We’ll start again properly tomorrow.”

“Are you going to get into trouble?” Harrius asked, eyes wide.

“Naw, don’t worry about me,” Hagrid waved a hand. “Not the first time I bothered the cog-‘eads. They’ll give me a stern talking to, I’m sure, but I’ll be alright.”

She smiled faintly, and then closed the door. They heard her go back down the stairs.

Harrius and Ron glanced at each other.

Ron blew out his cheeks. “What a night! Do you think that the rest of the detention will be like this?”

“Probably not,” Harrius said.

They turned and started back towards their dorm.

“What was it that the priest said again?” Harrius said, as they trudged up the stairs.

“This floor is super illegal, first-phase Sanctionite Ron Weasley, beep boop,” Ron said, moving his arms like a robot.

“No, before that,” Harrius frowned. “Something about a shrine?”

“You are in the illegal radius of the shrine of the python, beep boop?”

“Not python – pylon!” Harrius said. “The Shrine of Flamel’s Pylon! THAT’S what it said on the plaque!”

“What does it mean?” Ron said.

“I don’t know,” Harrius said. “But for some reason, that name is familiar…”

“Oh no,” Ron said. “Do I smell another Wild Conspiracy Theory?”

“Maybe,” Harrius said. But then he sighed and shook his head. 

“I’m too tired to think right now,” he said. “I just want to go to bed. But don’t worry, Ron – when I come up with my next theory, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Great,” Ron said.


	24. It's The Thought That Counts

As the forty days of detention commenced in earnest, the weeks flew by in a deadening blur of constant work. Harrius hadn’t noticed how much he enjoyed having a couple of hours free before bedtime, until they were gone. Now, aside from food breaks, he was literally working from morning till night.

Hagrid was nice about it at least and was never too hard on her detentionees. The tasks they were given were simple, if time consuming, and Hagrid always stuck around and did the tasks as well. It was impossible to remain in an entirely bad mood in her presence, as she always told interesting stories, and Norbet was a delight.

She never took them down to the basement again – although if no-one else was around, she would sometimes talk about Fluffy. Harrius occasionally brought up the Shrine of Flamel’s Pylon, but she didn’t know anything about it.

“Mechanicus stuff,” was all she would say. “None o’ my business. None o’ yers, either.”

Harrius, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that the name was somehow familiar. He wrote it down on the corner of his homework folder so he didn’t forget. And when at long last the forty days of detention came to an end, he finally had time to think about it properly.

“Hermione,” he said, one evening in the library. “Do you know what this means?”

He slid the homework folder towards her, and she glanced down at it. 

“That’s a square root symbol. It means you take the square root of the number inside it, that is, the number which-”

“No, not the maths sheet,” Harrius pointed. “This!”

Hermione looked closer. “Flame-Al’s Pee-lon?” she sounded out. “No, sorry.”

“It’s pronounced Flamel’s Pylon,” Harrius said. “I don’t think I spelt it right. But whatever it is, it’s in the basement, and being guarded by a Steropean Witch-killer.”

Across the table, Ron jerked his head up in interest. Hermione frowned. “Is Flamel the name of a person?”

“I think so,” Harrius said.

“So it’s a pylon, belonging to Flamel.”

“Genius,” Ron said. Hermione glared at him. 

“Yeah, but what’s a pylon?” Harrius asked. 

“Those tower-thingies that hold up cables, isn’t it?” Ron said. 

“A tower, or a support structure, or a gateway,” Hermione said. “It could be any of those.”

“Right,” Harrius said. “In other words, you don’t have any better idea than I do.”

“No, sorry,” Hermione said.

Harrius slid the folder back, and stared at the words he’d written. Flamel’s Pylon – where had he seen it before?

He got up and went to the history section of the library, pulling out some of the larger books he found, and returning to dump them on the table. He spent time going through the indexes – but he couldn’t find any mention of Flamel. 

“Why don’t you ask the administrator to look it up for you?” Hermione said, watching him. 

“I don’t think I should,” Harrius said quietly. “We’re not supposed to know about this. What if he tells McGonagall that we were looking it up? We might get into trouble – or Hagrid might!”

“I suppose,” Hermione said. “Although, if it’s such a big secret, the administrator might not know about it either.”

“But what if he does?” Harrius said. “It’s too risky.”

“Alright,” Hermione said. “But that book isn’t going to help you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a recipe book.”

“Oh. That explains why they’re talking about flambé.”

With Hermione’s help, Harrius went through a large stack of historical texts. But they had no idea who Flamel was, or even what time period they were from between the Great Crusade and the present year, and so the search proved ultimately fruitless. 

***

Outside Branch H, the weather began to grow colder, and one day the Sanctionites awoke to find a light dusting of snow across the courtyard. Many of them had never seen snow before, and immediately went outside to jump on it and throw mushy balls at each other. 

Harrius, on the other hand, expressed concern that if winter was starting, then they hadn’t been provided with the correct survival gear, or stored nearly enough emergency rations. His friends had to explain to him that firstly, a couple of centimetres of snow was all Branch H would get and secondly, winter only lasted for three months on Terra.

“I thought you grew up on Halos, not bloody Fenris,” Ron said to him.

Harrius was just relieved that they weren’t about to enter what Halosians formally referred to as The Darkening, and informally as The Fuckening.

With winter underway, the twin holidays of Candlemas and Emperor’s Day also drew near – holidays which respectively sent off the old Imperial year, and brought in a new. Harrius, as well as many of the other students who had not grown up on Terra, were amazed to find out that Candlemas was held in exactly the same season every year on the Holy Planet.

Not only that, but it was thematic to Terra’s natural weather cycle – or at least, the higher latitudes of the Northern Hemisphere, where the custom had first originated. The candles were inspired by an ancient holiday from before the Great Crusade, representing the bringing of the Emperor’s Holy Light to the darkest day of the year. It was quite poetic, and something which most planets, with their varying weather patterns and seasonal lengths, entirely missed the point of. 

Still, Candlemas and Emperor’s Day, like Sanguinala, were holidays which every planet in the Imperium had at least heard of. Harrius had gone and held a candle in the market square every Candlemas, whether sun, rain, or howling sleet, and watched as the mayor announced the new Imperial year. 

Of course, on Terra, the holiday was a lot more extravagant. In the weeks leading up to the new year, the corridors of the school were decorated with festive hangings and a truly excessive number of candles. The students were again given several days off their usual classes, and spent the time playing education games, or doing Candlemas themed arts and crafts. 

No-one could remember who first brought up the old tradition of Candlemas Gifting – but in the weeks leading up to the new year, the idea spread like wildfire. First a handful, then several friendship clusters, then the entire first-phase Raptora cohort, as well as the other Houses, became obsessed with making or finding gifts for everyone they possibly could. The gifts didn’t have to be worth anything – it was the sentiment which mattered, as well as the opportunity to flex on your friends when you gave out more gifts than they did. 

The dorms became a hive of stealthy activity, as students worked on top-secret art projects or smuggled in goods and attempted to hide them. Every nook and cranny were stuffed with random bits and bobs. Fights broke out constantly as students accused their fellows of peeking. 

Of course, none of them had any money, or could leave Branch H, and so many of the gifts were small items which had been ‘borrowed’ from around the facility. The staff quickly noticed the mass disappearance of stationery and other trinkets, and there was an announcement over breakfast asking them to please stop. 

They did not – and soon, students were losing points left, right and centre as they were caught red-handed. It was total pandemonium – but there wasn’t a single student who wasn’t having a blast.

Hermione made intricate birds and flowers out of cleverly folded paper, and Neville drew a tiny but detailed Candlemas picture for every single person in the cohort. Ron admitted that he didn’t have any artistic talent, aside from making one type of sweet biscuit, which he couldn’t do since he wasn’t allowed in the kitchens. Harrius was even worse – he knew how to gut a fish, or plough in a perfectly straight line, but that was about it.

Fortunately the forty days of detention had given them a unique perspective on the facility. They knew where all the storerooms were, and which ones were usually left unlocked, and where to find the Mechanicus access tunnels. And so, while the other students blundered around and snatched up any stray piece of lint, Harrius and Ron awed their friends by stealing things which were considerably more impressive – brand new rubber balls, Aquilla paperweights, or entire packets of colourful chalk.

When it came to finding a gift for Ron though, Harrius was stumped. Ron knew all the same tricks he did, and wouldn’t be impressed by any old thing from a storage closet. To make it worse, Ron kept eluding to a huge, amazing surprise gift he had for Harrius.

Harrius therefore had to find something even better. Which was how he came up with the idea of sneaking into the staffroom.

Harrius had only been in the staffroom once before, as part of the detention, when he and Ron had gone in to dust the cabinets. Usually, it was off-limits to students, and most of the time it was either locked, or full of professors drinking recaf.

The high risk, however, was balanced by the fact that the room was filled with stuff that would be excellent to steal. There were loads of artworks, interesting trinkets and high-quality stationery. There was also a glass cabinet at the back of the room, which was full of taxidermy animals.

The cabinet was not locked, only latched shut – Harrius knew because he and Ron had spent an hour or so taking out each glassy-eyed beastie, carefully dusting it, and putting it back. Apparently, all of the creatures in the cabinet had once been alive on Terra, before it became a hiveworld. According to Hagrid, they were priceless historical artifacts, although their use was purely one of academic curiosity, which was why they weren’t stored somewhere with higher security.

Also according the Hagrid, the taxidermy job on these creatures hadn’t been altogether too professional. In fact, they were apparently quite bad. Harrius had never seen a real ‘red fox’ or ‘hedgehog’ or ‘pine marten’ before, but even he could tell that they looked, well, silly. And that was exactly why he wanted to borrow one.

The problem was, how to get into the staffroom? Harrius figured that the best time to try would be in the middle of the day, when most of the tutors were busy teaching, and the room was unlocked. He could ask to go to the bathroom, then go the staffroom instead. Then, if there was no-one in there, he would be in and out in less than a minute. 

Executing the plan, however, turned out to be more difficult. He could only make one attempt per class, and only if his classroom was reasonably close to the staffroom. Then, he had to get lucky on the timing, so the staffroom was empty. Then, even if everything seemed quiet inside, he had to gather the courage to actually open the door. 

Twice, he lost his nerve and just kept on walking to the bathroom. A third time, he went to open the door, but heard footsteps in the distance and panicked.

On the fourth attempt, there was definitely someone inside, and he turned around and went straight back to class. Then, on the fifth attempt, he stopped to listen, and everything was quiet. 

It was now or never. Harrius glanced around, took a deep breath, and turned the handle.

The door squeaked loudly – but there was no response from inside. Harrius peered through and saw that the room was empty.

Heart in his mouth, he slipped in, and made for the taxidermy case. His hands were shaking as he flipped open the latch and, after a moment of hesitation, grabbed one of the silliest animals. It was a long, white creature with an expression of extreme surprise. According to the decorative label, it was an ‘ermine’.

He stuffed the beastie into his pocket, closed the latch, and made for the door again. He was already grinning, picturing the expressions on everyone’s face when he showed them what he’d got… 

There was a book on the table. Harrius glanced at it as he passed – and did a double take.

It was titled “The Collected Case Records and Scientific Observations of the Inquisitor Nicholas Flamel of the Ordos Xenos.”

Harrius stared at the book. He’d seen it before! Riquel, the telepath who had run his Fortitude Test, had owned a copy, and had gotten Harrius to read out passages. There’d been a picture in there, of a strange, technological monolith. Flamel’s Pylon! 

Harrius frowned, and slowly reached out and picked up the book. 

At that moment, he heard footsteps outside. 

There wasn’t time to escape the room. Adrenaline spiking, Harrius looked around wildly, and then made a dash for a nearby closet.

The closet was full of spare robes, and Harrius sunk back into them, closing the closet door as quietly as he could. Outside, the staffroom door opened, and to Harrius’ horror, he heard Snape’s voice.

“…understand my concern,” he was saying coldly. 

“Of c-c-course,” the voice of Professor Quirrell replied. “I just d-don’t understand why you’re asking m-m-me about this!”

“I am asking everyone,” Professor Snape said.

“But w-w-why?” Professor Quirrell said. “If you d-don’t mind me saying. The matter is over, is it, is it n-n-not?”

“I don’t know – is it, Quirinus?”

“W-w-well, I thought…um…er, have you seen my book, Severus? I could have sworn I put it right here…”

Inside the cupboard, Harrius realised that he was still holding the book, and his eyes widened. Shit! Dammit! Why hadn’t he put it back?

Sweating, he backed even further into the robes, and sunk into a crouch. Outside, he could hear Quirrell explaining that he’d put the book down not ten minutes ago, his voice muffled as he bent to look under the furniture. 

There was an ominously silent pause, and then something terrifying happened. Harrius felt the warp twitch, very close, and then an uncomfortable pressure brushed over his mind. It was a familiar feeling – the exact same invasive echo he’d felt all those months ago, when he’d had his mind read. 

The feeling only lasted for a second – but it was enough to betray his location. A moment later, the closet door flew open, and a long arm reached in and yanked him into the light.

Harrius tried to squirm out of Snape’s grip, but the pallid man was stronger than he looked, and his expression of disgust could have turned an Astartes to stone. Harrius gave up and let himself be placed into a chair.

“Harrius Potter,” Snape spat, eyeing his catch up and down. Behind him, Quirrell was staring in surprise, a cup of recaf forgotten in his hands.

“I should have known,” Snape continued. “Once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker. If it was up to me, you would already have been removed from our school. A disobedient psyker is of no use to the Imperium.”

“S-s-Severus, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” Quirrell mumbled.

“He has broken into a forbidden area, during class time,” Snape said. “On top of that…” he reached down and plucked the book out of Harrius’ hands. “…he has stolen the property of a professor! This is your missing book, is it not, Quirinus?”

“Oh…ah…yes, it is.”

“I’m sorry!” Harrius burst out in panic. “I just saw the book on the table, and I thought it looked interesting! I wasn’t even stealing it, I was just looking! I didn’t mean to take it, honest!”

Half-way through his outburst, he once again noticed the unpleasant pressure in his mind, which only increased his panic. “Please, I’m telling the truth!” he squeaked. “I wasn’t gonna steal, I just saw it!”

It was, in fact, the truth – he had just seen the book accidentally, and he hadn’t been intending to take it with him. He tried to keep this conviction at the forefront of his mind – but it wasn’t easy. He could feel the tendrils probing deeper, like tiny, ice-cold needles. 

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but he leaned in closer. “You saw the book, through the closed door, did you?”

“I, ah,” Harrius floundered. He tried not to think about the ermine in his pocket – but of course, this just made it harder to not think about. It was a losing battle, and after only a few seconds, Harrius decided there was no point in trying to lie to a telepath. 

“I just wanted to get a gift for Ron,” he admitted, slumping in his chair. “For Candlemas. I thought…I thought the stuffed ermine was funny…”

There was another long pause. Harrius stared at his shoes, and let the needles pick apart his memory. Then, to his relief, the pressure in his mind vanished. 

“A thief, then, plain and simple,” Snape said. “Not that theft is unusual these days. You, and all the other foolish children, following each other’s pathetic example. Well, Potter, let me remind you that property theft is a criminal act. One hundred points from Raptora. This is your Candlemas gift to your House.”

Harrius gaped at him. “One hundred points!?”

“Yes,” Snape said. “And if you are wise, you will take this lesson to heart. Disobedience is not a quality which is tolerated in our school, and in the wider Imperium. Those who are disobedient shall be punished. Be thankful your punishment is so light. Quirinus?”

“Uh, y-yes?”

“Take him back to his class. Make sure they know he got caught stealing. I want them to know it was Potter who lost their precious House points.”

Snape sent one last cold stare in Harrius’ direction, before he turned and swept out of the room. Harrius watched him go, a lump of dismay in his throat. This was unfair. None of the other students had been docked one hundred whole points, even Dean, who’d been caught on the third floor, at night. Why did Snape hate him so much? 

On top of that, his head had started throbbing, fracture-lines of pain running along the thought-probe’s afterimage. He REALLY hated having his mind read. He also hadn’t known that Snape was a telepath until now – or, more specifically, a pyropath. 

Professor Quirrell cleared his throat, reminding Harrius that he was still in the room.

“For the record,” the turbaned professor said, “I d-don’t mind if you borrow my book. It’s a truly fascinating read! A bit wordy at times, ha ha, but the Inquisitor led a fascinating life, and some of his insights are well worth reading! A wise man. Actually, I hadn’t picked you as the sort to read autobiographies, Harrius, but you have good taste! I would prefer you return the book afterwards, of course. But if you want to borrow it..?”

Harrius blinked at him dazedly. 

“I…I would like to borrow it, yes,” he said. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Ah, no problem, Harrius,” Quirrell beamed. “Just give it back to me after class, once you’re finished! I would recommend using a dictionary while you read, however – some of ol’ Nicholas’ finer points are hidden away in truly spectacular purple prose! But worth deciphering, trust me. Stick at it, and you’ll find a world of fascinating information. Now, I believe you should be getting back to class..?”

“Yeah,” Harrius sighed. 

He told Quirrell where the class was, and Quirrell led the way there, chattering the whole time about other autobiographies he’d read. Fortunately, he forgot that Snape had asked him to tell everyone about Harrius’ massive loss of points, and instead just dropped Harrius off at the door.

“Good luck,” he told Harrius with a smile. “You’d better not go wondering around into places you’re not meant to be anymore, either. Severus might have an aneurysm, ha ha. Anyway, better get to class now! Goodbye!”

He shuffled off, and Harrius sighed again, before entering the classroom. Professor Flitwick gave him a disapproving look for taking so long, but didn’t ask questions.

He spent the rest of the class in a glum state, dreading the moment when the cohort returned to the common room, and saw the giant drop in House points on the screen. Ron and Hermione noticed, and sent him curious looks, but the class was too quiet to tell them, and he couldn’t bring himself to write a note. 

After class, they both closed in on him as he miserably made his way to the common room. 

“Alright, where’d you go, then?” Ron asked, folding his arms. “Are you having adventures without us?”

“You got into trouble, didn’t you?” Hermione said disapprovingly.

Harrius let out another giant sigh. “Trust me,” he said, “you’re glad you missed this one.”

“Why?” Hermione looked concerned. “Harrius, what did you do?”

“I snuck into the staffroom,” Harrius admitted. “For a Candlemas gift. But I got caught.”

“Oh no,” Ron said.

“It gets worse,” Harrius said. “The person who caught me was Snape.”

“O h n o ,” Ron said. “Don’t tell me, you’ve got another detention?”

“No,” Harrius said. “But-”

There was a yell up ahead from the common room. 

“WHAT THE HECK? WHO’S THE IDIOT WHO JUST LOST US ONE HUNDRED POINTS??”

Harrius hunched in on himself, while his friends gave him horrified looks. 

“On the plus side,” he said miserably, “I remembered who Flamel is.”


	25. Flamel's Pylon

Harrius spent the rest of the day keeping a low profile, but that didn’t stop every Raptora student from finding out that he had lost them one hundred points. Even his friends were salty about it – Ron told him that he should probably give his conspiracy theories a break, and Hermione, although she was clearing trying not to be mad about it, definitely was. 

Fortunately, they didn’t stay mad for long – after all, everyone knew Snape was a bastard, and Harrius wasn’t the only one who’d gotten caught over the last few days. 

Harrius still felt bad through, and he was quieter than usual all through Candlemas the following day. He still had the ermine – Snape hadn’t bothered to confiscate it, after all. But he could barely look at it, or the book he’d borrowed from Quirrell. Gloomily, he sat through the morning’s sermons, and then watched Ron destroy everyone at Regicide in the afternoon.

As Candlemas drew to a close however, and midnight approached, the atmosphere of pure excitement was so infectious that he couldn’t help but join in. When the countdown to midnight began, accompanied by an official voxcast from the Imperial Palace, Harrius was yelling each number just as enthusiastically as everyone else.

When the clock ticked over the 00:00, the Raptora cohort exploded, jumping up and down, throwing shredded paper the air, and screaming “HAPPY EMPEROR’S DAY!” at the top of their lungs. Then, there was a mass rush to the dorm rooms, as everyone went and fished out the gifts they’d been squirrelling away.

Hermione handed out her paper art, while Ron zealously distributed a large number of stolen goods. Neville, carrying Trevor (complete with a paper hat from Hermione), handed out the drawings he’d done for everyone. The one he gave Harrius was a drawing of Harrius himself, holding Trevor, who was smiling. “Thanks again for saving him,” he said sincerely. 

At some point during the mayhem, Ron handed Harrius a large box. Inside was a pie, which Harrius sniffed in interest. 

“Ah, you’ve opened it,” Ron beamed. “I figured your favourite thing in the world is food. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Harrius said. “What’s in it?”

“Fish,” Ron said. “It’s a fish pie, with extra salt. I specifically asked them to make it in the kitchen. It wasn’t easy, I had to get Hagrid in on it and everything! Fish are, like, a weird delicacy on Terra. But I thought they’d remind you of your homeworld, since you always go on about ‘em...”

“Well, we don’t have pie on Halos,” Harrius said, going and fetching his emergency fork. “No pastry. But we sure do have fish. Let’s see…”

He took the pie out of the box and dug into it with the fork, shovelling a large piece into his mouth. Immediately his tastebuds were vaporised by a pungent salty, fishy flavour, strong enough to make Hermione, several metres away, winkle her nose in disgust.

Harrius chewed, and swallowed, and then a giant smile spread across his face. 

“It’s JUST like Halos,” he said. 

“You’re welcomb,” Ron said, fingers over his nose.

On seeing that his pie was making other people uncomfortable, Harrius reluctantly put it away in its box again for later. “Thanks, Ron,” he said, still grinning. “Best gift I ever got!”

“Glad you think so, because I was worried you’d think it was disgusting, like a normal person,” Ron said. “Anyway – where’s my gift, Harrius? I saw you give one to everyone else.”

Harrius blinked at him, heart sinking. “Ah,” he said. “Well…that was what I was getting when I got caught…”

“Oh, right,” Ron said, trying his best to not look disappointed. “So, you didn’t get it?”

“Well,” Harrius said. “Actually, I did get it. Snape never asked me to return it, so I didn’t. It’s just, it’s really stupid. Especially considering what happened.”

“Psh,” Ron said, “I wanna see it anyway.”

“Alright,” Harrius said.

He went and grabbed the stuffed ermine, now slightly squashed, out of the coat pocket where he’d left it. Then he came back and placed it unceremoniously on the table in front of Ron. 

“There,” he said. “This stupid thing is the reason why I lost one hundred House points.”

Ron looked at the ermine, with its surprised expression, rectangular body, and googly eyeballs, and then he looked at Harrius. Then he looked back at the ermine. Then he burst out laughing. 

He kept laughing for a solid five minutes, tears of mirth streaming down his face – and other people, Seamus, Parvati, and even Hermione, saw it and joined in. 

The ermine then got passed around, and received more laughs, before eventually coming back to Ron. Ron gave the thing a kiss on its lumpy nose, and patted Harrius on his back. 

“Harrius,” he said. “This thing is worth TWO hundred points to me. Ten out of ten. Absolute comedy gold.”

Harrius, somewhat overwhelmed, just nodded weakly.

***

The next morning, the students were allowed to sleep in for a bit, before they all trundled sleepily down to the mess hall. Harrius brought his fish pie with him, which had only become more fragrant overnight, and ate most of it for breakfast, much to the disgust of everyone in a ten-metre radius.

After that, the students attended an Emperor’s Day sermon which went on for four hours. During the sermon, they sat near Professor Quirrell, who for some reason kept glancing at Harrius and smiling. One time, he even winked. 

“Harrius, WHY is Quirrell winking at you?” Ron whispered. “It’s creeping me out!”

Harrius gave a big shrug. “I think…it’s because I borrowed a book from him.”

“And now you’re best friends?”

“I guess he thinks so,” Harrius said helplessly.

After the sermon, he left the hall as fast as he could, before Quirrell could find him and initiate a conversation. 

“We’re going to have to avoid Quirrell as much as possible from now on,” he said firmly.

“Why do you have a book belonging to Professor Quirrell anyway?” Hermione asked.

“It’s about Inquisitor Nicholas Flamel,” Harrius said. “You know, Flamel of Flamel’s Pylon? Same person.”

“Wait,” Ron said. “How long have you had this??”

“A couple of days.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to mention it?”

“I did mention it!” Harrius said. “It just got overshadowed, by the fact that I lost one hundred House points.”

“Ah,” Ron said. “Well, do you know what the Pylon’s deal is yet?”

“No, not yet,” Harrius frowned. “Haven’t had time to read it… Although…we could read it this evening? There’s some free time after dinner.”

“Well, I was gonna play Regicide…” Ron said. 

“Ron, you’re’ just going to win every game. What’s even the point?”

“I like winning,” Ron said. “But,” he added, seeing Harrius’ expression, “I can give it up, just for one night. Sure – let’s read this bloody book and find out the secrets of the school or whatever. Hermione, are you coming too?” 

“Obviously,” Hermione said.

***

After dinner, Harrius collected the book from the dorm, and they all headed to the library. It felt strange to sit at their usual homework table, all by themselves, without another student in sight. Not even the administrator was present – but the door was unlocked, so they figured they were technically allowed to be there. 

With night fallen outside, and most of the lights turned off, the rows of bookshelves became eerie and mysterious, casting long, muffled shadows of impenetrable dark. Huddled around the dim yellow lamp at the centre of their table, Harrius and his friends gazed down at the picture of Flamel’s Pylon.

“OK,” Ron said. “What am I looking at?”

“An obelisk,” Hermione said. “Constructed out of, um,”

“I think it’s some sort of archeotech,” Harrius said. “Or xenotech, maybe?”

“What do all of those weird lines and circles mean?” Ron wrinkled his nose.

“I think it’s writing. I wonder if it says something, or is it just decoration?”

“Harrius, can you please move your elbow, I’m trying to read.”

Harrius retracted his arm, and let Hermione turn the book towards her. Her lips moved silently, and she frowned, flipping the page back.

“The obelisks were largely ignored by the locals,” she read out loud. “They claimed that these bizarre obsidian monoliths had always been present, and thus habituated, viewed them as nothing beyond a curiosity of not only an unknown, but unknowable, purpose. Most revered, yet avoided them, treating these strange installations such as one might treat a magnificent yet capricious beast – majestic, captivating, and best viewed from afar.

“Yet in spite of their aloof existence, the effect of these arcane edifices was profound. Where all neighbouring systems had succumbed to the insidious hand of the Ruinous Powers, Iredecca remained pristine. Indeed, even when compared to antiquated reports, it seemed as though nothing had perceptibly changed in over five thousand years. The denizens toiled each day as they always had, in emerald pastures under languid sun, their lives simple, peaceful; the quintessential image of the Imperial Agriworlder. They were blissfully ignorant of the terror and folly which had overcome their neighbours. They remained a loyal, pious heart of gold, amidst a bitter, putrescent maelstrom. It was if we had entered a new sector entirely, or perhaps travelled backwards through time.

“It was, of course, not impossible that pure coincidence, or perhaps a stalwart belief in the Emperor, had shielded this quaint planet from its ruination. However, once both Adepts Janus and Cinna came forwards to inform me that they believed otherwise, and each for separate reasons, I henceforth became convinced that chance had nothing to do with it. Adept Janus had unearthed records from the fortress world of Cadia, detailing monolithic structures which were eerily similar in both design and effect to our own discovery. Moreover, Adept Cinna informed me that the obelisk’s effect was tangible to one such as her, describing a palpable uncoiling or soothing of the Empyrean’s mad, whirling vortices, as though one had taken a steam iron to its violent, twisting folds. Although I myself could not sense such a change, members of the Astropathic Choir corroborated her testimony-”

“Hermione,” Ron interrupted. “I’m sorry – are you actually following any of this?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Are you not?”

“I got something about a majestic beast,” Ron said. “And then someone was doing some ironing..?”

“No one was ironing!” Hermione said. “It was a simile!”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Ron said. “But it’s hard to follow when half of the words are three syllables long or more!”

“Is the majestic beast…the Steropean Witch-killer?” Harrius said.

Hermione shook her head and sighed. “I suppose it will be easier for you if I just translate it, then,” she said.

“Yes, please,” Ron and Harrius chorused.

Hermione went back to reading silently. Every so often she would stop and explain to the others in plain Gothic what the Inquisitor was talking about.

“So, they went down to the planet, and tried to dig up one of the obelisks,” she said. “But it didn’t go well. The locals got upset with them, and their dig site was plagued with unusual occurrences – machines breaking down, servitors going haywire, people falling mysteriously ill, etcetera. The Inquisitor seems unsure whether it was the locals sneaking in and sabotaging things, or the obelisk itself messing with them.”

“Is the obelisk alive?” Harrius leaned in.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione said. “But it can apparently influence the warp in some way. The Inquisitor seems to be implying that the warp is “tamed” in the obelisk’s presence – although I’m not entirely sure what that means. Flamel isn’t a psyker, so his descriptions of the warp are, well, colourful, but not very accurate.”

“Right,” Harrius said. “So, what happened next?”

“Oh! They actually managed to dig it up!” Hermione said. “But they damaged it a bit in the process... And as soon as they took it away from the dig site, it stopped working.”

“Oh no,” Ron said.

Hermione turned the page. “OK, this is where I was before,” she muttered. “The Inquisitor brings the obelisk up to the ship…they do a whole lot of experiments on it...um...there’s a lot of technical jargon. But,” she skimmed ahead, “it looks like they eventually managed to get the obelisk working again. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Harrius said.

“They say the effect wasn’t as strong as before,” Hermione said. “And it was much more unstable. And it used a LOT of power to maintain. AND, the Astropaths hated it – apparently it caused a lot of local interference in the warp, and stopped messages from getting through.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Ron said.

“No, they didn’t think so either,” Hermione frowned. “It looks like the experiments were abandoned shortly after that.”   
“Right,” Harrius said. “I wonder what happened to the obelisk next?”

“Yeah, how did it get to be under our school?” Ron said. 

“And WHY is it there, of all places?” Harrius narrowed his eyes. 

“Isn’t that obvious?” Hermione said.

The other two looked at her blankly.

“Flamel’s Pylon is device which is able to sooth the warp in its presence,” Hermione said. “So obviously, someone decided that the perfect place to put it was underneath a school for psykers.”

“But,” Harrius said, “didn’t you say it was unstable?”

“Yes – which is probably why only the Mechanicus priests are allowed down there.”

“And it requires a huge amount of power?”

“We’re on a planet, not a ship, so that’s less of a problem.”

“And Astropaths really hate it?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, “that’s probably why there aren’t any here.”

“Huh,” Harrius leaned back in his chair. “So THAT’S why the telepaths are taught somewhere else!”

“Wait a minute,” Ron said, “are you saying is that, for this whole time, we’ve been using “tame” warp? In other words, baby warp, for babies?”

“Essentially, yes,” Hermione said.

Ron looked offended.

“Although,” Hermione continued, “it clearly isn’t a perfect system. The Sanguinala Eyeball Incident proves that much.”

“The Eyeball didn’t get in directly from the warp, though,” Harrius said. “It got in through the diary.”

“Ahh, the diary,” Ron said. “Do we know what happened to that? Did they ever find it?”

“I dunno,” Harrius said. 

“So, it might still be out there, then?” Ron said, waggling his fingers.

“Yep,” Harrius said. “It could be out there somewhere, sitting in the dark, being all creepy!”

He leaned in, eyeing Ron. “Maybe it’s found another victim? Maybe they already turned into a monster! And now they’re sneaking around the library, hiding behind the bookshelves, ready to jump out and GRAB you!”

He grabbed Ron’s arm. Ron flinched and withdrew the arm out of Harrius’ reach, glancing around at the shadowy bookshelves as he did so. 

“Great, now I’m terrified, thanks,” he said.

Harrius grinned, leaning back again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’d definitely notice if there was a monster standing right behind you!”

Ron opened his mouth to reply. But it was at that moment that a book spontaneously fell off the empty table next to them. 

All three of them jumped as the book hit the floor, and Ron let out a yelp. They turned to stare at the neighbouring table, and the offending book, lying innocuously where it had fallen. 

“Holy Emperor,” Ron breathed out. “Talk about-”

“Shh!” Harrius interrupted him.

There was a single chair at the table next to theirs, half in shadow and turned slightly towards them. It looked perfectly innocent – but Harrius found his eye drawn towards it. 

He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary – it was just a regular plasteel chair. But alarm bells were ringing in his subconscious. He felt as though he was missing something, something extremely important. There was supposed to be something there – no, there WAS something there, a solid mass in space – but his eyes were refusing to show it to him. 

The hair rose on the back of his neck. He’d been joking about hidden monsters in the library, but now he suddenly wasn’t so sure. “He-hello?” he said. “Who’s there?!”

“Mate, I get it, you can stop creeping me out now,” Ron said nervously. 

“There’s no-one there, Harrius,” Hermione added. “The book was probably balanced on the edge of the table. It was just a coincidence that it fell off at that moment. One of you probably stomped your foot on the floor, and the slight vibrations caused it to tip over the edge-”

Harrius wasn’t listening. Instead, breathing deep to calm himself, he carefully opened himself to the warp. 

His eyes might have been fallible, but warp shadows never lied. Gingerly, he reached out towards the chair…

With a gasp, he recoiled. 

Ron and Hermione looked at him. 

“What is it?” Hermione said.

Harrius could not find the words. He felt sick. His pulse was thundering in his ears, but he was frozen in place.

Then he felt the mass move, and was galvanised into action. Half standing, he thrust out his arm, finger pointed at the lamp in the centre of the neighbouring table.

Energy surged. The lamp flared on. Ron and Hermione turned their heads to look. 

For the briefest instant, all three of them saw the shadow of a person outlined on the floor behind the chair.


	26. The Correct Thing to Do

Ron let out a high pitched scream, and Hermione leapt from her chair, hands clasped over her mouth. The shadowy person abruptly stood, knocking their own chair backwards. 

“Who are you!?” Harrius yelled shrilly, eyes fixed on the shadow. “I can see you!”

As he said it, it became true. Where before he had only felt that there was so something there, he could now actually see them – an adult male in a gun-grey cloak, face obscured in the darkness of his cowl. Hurriedly, the man turned and retreated into the bookshelves.

Harrius reached for the warp again. This time he sent a power surge through the chandelier above. The filaments rapidly heated, and bright light washed the entire library, before several of the bulbs exploded in a shower of glass. But it was enough – in the flash of light, Harrius saw the figure heading towards the exit.

He sprinted around the table and after the figure – but they had already made it to the door. As they turned the handle, Harrius desperately flung out his arm, and caused the door to yank out of their grasp, slamming violently shut.

The figure paused, and turned to look at him. Harrius skidded to a stop, metres away. He was suddenly acutely aware that he was chasing a fully-fledged adult psyker, with a lot more experience than him.

The hood had fallen back, just a little – and for a second, the light caught just right. Harrius locked eyes with those under the hood. They were black as starless void.

Stunned, he could only watch as the figure opened the door and disappeared through it.

“Snape?” he whispered.

As he stood in shock, mind reeling, there was a crunching of glass behind him, and Hermione appeared. 

“Harrius, what just happened? Who was that? And,” she added, looking around, “was it REALLY necessary to blow up the chandelier?”

“It was Snape,” Harrius said shakily. “I…I saw his face… It was definitely him.”

“Professor Snape?” Hermione said incredulously. “Are you sure? I can’t see how that makes any sense.”

“He had the diary,” Harrius continued.

Hermione blinked at him. “What?”

“I felt it,” Harrius said. “It has a distinctive feeling. Similar to how the Eyeball felt. Sort of like a really hard maths question, if it was sentient. It’s unmistakable.”

“Professor Snape has the diary??” Hermione said. 

“Yes,” Harrius turned to her feverishly. “He must have gotten it from Markus somehow, after he died! He’s head of Pyrae House, so he could probably just walk into the dorm and collect it… And the wardens didn’t find it, because they only searched through the student dorms! In fact, Snape might have already known about the diary, before Markus got it! After all, the first place we saw it was in his classroom..!” 

Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Behind them, Ron noisily approached.

“Can I just say, what the ACTUAL fuck,” he said, placing a heavy arm on both Harrius and Hermione’s shoulders. “I’m pretty sure I just lost a few years off my lifespan! Phew! What even was that? Also, Harrius, why they FUCK would you chase after it, you madman?! I thought it was another Eyeball appearing!”

“No, but close,” Harrius said. “It was Snape, with the evil diary.”

“What?” Ron said. “Wait. Snape can turn invisible now??”

“Apparently.”

“Oh!” Hermione said. “Throne. That actually makes sense!”

“Does it?” Harrius looked at her.

“Yes! You said that he read your mind, during your little excursion into the staffroom, didn’t you?”

“Yeah – so?”

“So, invisibility is a standard telepathic ability!” Hermione said. “Remember, Professor Quirrell talking about it, just last week? They don’t actually turn invisible – they just convince your brain that it isn’t seeing anything, and thus move around unnoticed.”

“Huh,” Harrius said.

“Snape could turn invisible this whole time??” Ron grimaced. “Do you think he often comes and watches his students study? No wonder he thinks we’re all idiots! Not only does he watch us not do his homework, he can literally see out braincells thrashing about in agony whenever we look at a maths question!”

“Ron, don’t be silly, Professor Snape wouldn’t use telepathic powers just to watch you struggle with basic arithmetic,” Hermione said. 

“OK, why was he spying on us, then?” Ron said. 

Harrius frowned. 

“Do you think…it’s something to do with Flamel’s Pylon?”

“Do you think so?” Hermione said. 

“Well, that’s what we were reading about,” Harrius said. “And he knows I have that book – he was there when I, uhh, borrowed it. Plus Quirrell won’t shut up about how he lent it to me.”

“Surely he would already know about Flamel’s Pylon,” Hermione said. “He’s a professor.”

“Maybe, but maybe not,” Harrius said. “Maybe it’s even more of a secret than we thought…”

“So, why does he want to know about it?”

“I…I don’t know,” Harrius said.

“Well, whatever it is,” Hermione said, “we need to tell Professor McGonagall about this.”

“Agreed,” Harrius said. “As soon as possible! Snape knows I saw him…”

“Throne,” Hermione said. “You’re right, we need to hurry! Snape is a telepath, and a professor, so if he thinks we’re a threat, there are a lot of things he could do! He could attack our minds, or our academic integrity! We could be entirely brain-wiped of everything we’ve learnt...or worse……………expelled!”

“Great,” Ron said. “And here I was, thinking we’d have a nice, peaceful holiday this time.”

They left the library at a run, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. It was approaching 20:00, and they had no idea where Professor McGonagall was – but they had a plan. It was still technically dinner time, and that meant that the prefects would be down in Mess Hall C, keeping an eye on the last few stragglers. 

Sure enough, Perseus was exactly where they expected him to be, sitting feet up, sipping on a cup of recaf. For the first time ever, Harrius was relieved to see the grumpy fifth-phaser. 

As they ran up to him, Perseus placed down his mug and turned to eye them suspiciously. “Alright, what have you done now?” he snapped. 

“Sir,” Harrius breathed, “we need to speak to Professor McGonagall! It’s REALLY important!”

“Oh?” Perseus said. “Do I look like Professor McGonagall to you?”

“No, sir – but you’re allowed up to the higher floors. Can you find her? Please, sir?”

“The Professor is no doubt very busy at this time,” Perseus said, leaning back in his chair. “What could be SO important that you want ME to disturb her?”

Harrius glanced at the others. “Um,” he said. “It’s…it’s related to what happened on Sanguinala eve...”

Perseus stared at him. He lifted his cup of recaf and took a long sip. “Oh?” he said. “And what would you know of that?”

“We literally fought the daemon, sir,” Harrius said.

Perseus spat out his drink. 

“We think we know who’s responsible for letting it in,” Harrius continued. “And we need to tell Professor McGonagall! Please – can you get her?”

“Um,” Perseus said stiffly, wiping droplets off his jacket. “Yes…I…that does sound quite important…”

He stood up and hurried away without another word. Harrius let out a breath, and dropped into the chair where Perseus had been sitting.

Ron and Hermione sat next to him, and they waited in tense silence. Around them, the last few groups of students were chattering happily, finishing up dinner and ambling leisurely up to their dorms. 

Harrius was just thinking that he should have told Perseus that they would be up at the Raptora dorm as well, when next to him, Hermione’s shoulders stiffened. 

“Snape,” she hissed.

Harrius followed her gaze. Sure enough, the maths professor himself had just walked into the mess hall. 

“Crap,” he breathed, sliding off his chair and ducking behind the table. “He NEVER comes here usually!”

As Hermione and Ron ducked down as well, Harrius peered between the table legs and watched Snape’s shoes move into the centre of the room, where they came to a stop. 

“What’s he doing?” he whispered. 

“Do you think he saw us?” Hermione whispered back.

Snape’s feet turned around, and around again, until they were pointing towards Harrius. Then they began moving again.

“Crap!” Harrius hissed. “He knows we’re here!” 

“Do we run?” Ron hissed. “We’re running, right?”

“No!” Hermione grabbed his arm. “If we run, he’ll just follow us into the corridors! Here at least, there are wardens and other witnesses! He won’t try anything in front of the wardens!”

Ron made a doubtful noise, clearly fighting the instinct to run away from danger. Harrius meanwhile tried to compose himself, pushing down the panic. Maybe Snape didn’t know what they knew? Maybe he was just scouting it out?

As Snape rounded the table, they all tried their best to act natural, while sitting on the floor. Snape saw them, and came to a stop. His expression was, as usual, unreadable. Harrius noticed that he was holding something in his hand – a blue strip of paper. 

“Potter,” he said momentarily. “Weasley. Granger. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Um,” Hermione squeaked. “N-no, professor!” She pointed at the big digital clock over the doorway, which read 19:54. “We still have s-six more minutes!”

Snape slowly turned to look at the clock, and then back at Hermione.

“As technically correct as that statement may be,” he said, “I think you will find that in some cases, it is better to benefit from an early retirement. If you insist on dallying for longer than is necessary, then some people might think that you’re…up to something.”

He paused, letting his words diffuse. But no one said anything, or moved at all. Harrius, eyes flicking to the door, wished over and over that McGonagall would appear and save them. 

“Nothing to say for yourselves?” Snape continued. “Then I shall be more direct. Off you go. No more lollygagging. Your dorm awaits.”

“We’re waiting for someone,” Hermione squeaked hurriedly. “P-professor McGonagall! She should be here any minute! We, we need to discuss a p-project with her!”

“A likely story,” Snape said. “You are wasting my time with these pointless excuses, Granger. Potter may be a lost cause, and Weasley a fool, but I did not expect such blatant insubordination from you. You do not want this to affect your grades, do you?”

Hermione visibly paled, but she stayed where she was, staring sightlessly into nothing. Harrius snuck a glance at Snape, and caught the briefest flash of emotion, although he couldn’t quite tell what it was. Anger? Frustration? Fear?

Snape caught Harrius looking, and turned his withering gaze upon him. “Potter,” he said, “your nigh constant disobedience is a truly concerning trait. In disobedience lies the path to Ruin. I thought you might have learnt your lesson last time, but I see you have not. Perhaps I will remove more House points, Potter?”

“Please, sir,” Harrius said, staring at the table leg. “Don’t remove them yet! We’re allowed to be here for four more minutes! We’re not breaking any rules!”

“Talking back, are we?” Snape said coldly. “Five points from Raptora, Potter. Now, if the three of you don’t get up off the floor immediately, I will be forced to remove more.”

His heart racing, Harrius grit his teeth, and stayed where he was. Aside from a single pair of wardens, there was no-one else left in the hall. Even the prefects had left. The clock on the wall blinked closer to the hour. Three minutes ticked over to two…

“Potter,” Snape loomed in.

There was movement at the door. Professor McGonagall stepped into view. 

Harrius’ heart leapt in triumph. “There!” he yelled, jumping to his feet. “There she is!”

He ducked under Snape’s arm, and raced towards the door. Ron and Hermione were close behind him.

As he ran towards McGonagall though, he noticed that she wasn’t alone. There were three other adults behind her, all of them in unfamiliar. 

Two of them looked like mercenaries. They wore strange black and pink carapace armour, and were carrying some of the largest guns Harrius had ever seen. Their faces were obscured behind bulky helmets with circular eyepieces, glowing faintly red.

The third person was a short woman in a long grey coat and an extravagant lacy pink cravat. She wore a tall, wide-brim hat, with a distinctive I symbol emblazed across it, also in pink.

Harrius came to a stop, eyeing the strangers. Were they…were they from the Inquisition?

“Harrius,” McGonagall said. “Perseus tells me that you and your little friends have managed to uncover more information?”

Harrius looked at her. She was smiling at him – but for some reason, the smile felt strained.

“Um,” Harrius said, glancing from her to the other adults. “Yes, but…um…”

“It’s alright, dearie,” the woman in pink said, leaning down to his level. “Anything you want to say to the nice professor, you can say to me!” She smiled primly. Behind her, the mercenaries had closed the door to the hall, and had moved to stand in front of it.

“Um..?” Harrius said.

“Go on, Harrius,” McGonagall said to him, still smiling stiffly. “What was it you told Perseus?”

Harrius took a breath. “Well…we know who has the diary. You know, the diary..?”

“The tainted diary, yes, I remember,” McGonagall said. “Who do you think has it?”

Harrius glanced to the side. Snape was still standing where they’d left him. His expression was neutral, although there was a stiffness to his shoulders.

“Professor Snape,” he said.

McGonagall’s eyes widened, just slightly, and her smile dropped. Beside her, the woman in pink was looking very interested. 

“Is…that so?” McGonagall managed. “And what makes you think that, Harrius?”

“We saw him in the library,” Harrius said. “He was trying to hide, but we saw through it. He had the diary with him! I…I felt its presence.”

“You felt it psychically?” McGonagall said.

Harrius nodded, and went into more detail. He looked at McGonagall as he spoke, but he was aware of the strange woman watching him closely, like a small child watches an ant. Once Harrius trailed off, she cleared her throat. “Hem-hem. This Professor Snape. Where might we find him, dearie?”

Silently, Harrius raised a finger and pointed. Everyone turned to look at Snape. He still hadn’t moved.

The pink woman clapped her hands twice, and the mercenaries stepped forwards. All three of them closed in on Snape, the mercenaries with guns raised. 

“You are Professor Snape?” the woman called, once she had gotten closer. 

Snape very slowly nodded, once. 

“Right!” the woman smiled. “I am Interrogator Dolores Umbridge of the Ordos Hereticus! And YOU are under arrest, on suspicion of grievous Heresy! You are to come with us for immediate interrogation! Do not attempt to resist, or the hour of your execution shall be deemed immediate! Do you understand me? Just nod if you do. That’s right!”

Snape sent her a hollow stare. He still hadn’t moved at all.

“Anything you would like to say?” the Interrogator continued. “Any heretical gods you would like to swear undying fealty to? No?”

Snape opened his mouth. “I have just three things to say.”

The Interrogator cocked her head. “Yes?”

“The first is that I am innocent,” Snape said. “I have never laid eyes on this tainted diary. I have never served any goal besides furthering the objectives and reputation of the Scholastica Psykana. I always have been, and always will be, loyal to the Emperor.”

“You are not innocent,” the Interrogator smiled. “You are a psyker. But DO continue.”

“The second is, in arresting me, you are acting directly in favour of the enemy,” Snape said. “This is part of their plan. Once I am removed, then they will be free to act.”

“Oh?” the Interrogator said. “And who exactly is “they”?”

“If I knew,” Snape said through his teeth, “then none of this would have happened.”

“Alright,” the Interrogator pursed her lips. “What is your third statement? Make it snappy!”

“The third is a message, in the desperate hope that it will be received,” Snape said – and he turned and looked directly at Harrius. Their eyes met. Harrius was once again frozen, as Snape stared through time and space, directly into his soul.

“The game of Fate reaches its close,” Snape said clearly. “But no game continues forever. It must have an end. And a beginning.”

“Okaaay, that’s enough of that!” the Interrogator said, and she clapped her hands again. The mercenaries moved in. Once of them grabbed Snape’s arms, twisting them behind his back and snapping them in cuffs. The cuffs whirred and began to glow. Snape visibly winced, closing his eyes.

“Right!” the Interrogator said. “That’s that, then! This little investigation might turn out a simple matter after all!” Smiling, she moved back to where McGonagall was standing. 

“Thoughts?” she said, cocking her head. “Are you surprised, Professor? I don’t blame you. It is always those closest to the heretic who are the last to notice! Either that, or they are complicit…”

McGonagall stared straight ahead, her expression blank. “I have nothing to hide, Interrogator.”

The Interrogator’s smile widened. “I’ll be the judge of that! I don’t suppose you’ll object to a Branch-wide deep inspection, then?”

“I don’t believe my personal opinion is important in that decision,” McGonagall said. 

“You’re right, it isn’t!” the Interrogator said, and she laughed.

They all watched as Professor Snape was frogmarched out of the room.

“Ah, all in a good day’s work,” the Interrogator said, watching him go. She reached up and patted McGonagall on the shoulder. “Goodnight, Professor! I shall be back tomorrow, bright and early!”

She smiled at Harrius, and then moved off after her mercenaries.

Once she was gone, Professor McGonagall let out an audible sigh. With a shaking hand, she adjusted her glasses. 

“Well,” she said, looking down at Harrius and the others. “That was something, wasn’t it?”

“Professor,” Harrius said in a small voice. “What…what will happen to Snape?”

“Professor Snape will be questioned,” McGonagall said, looking away. “If he’s found guilty, they will execute him. There is no sympathy for the witch.”

Harrius swallowed. This had rapidly spun far out of his control.

“It’s alright,” McGonagall said. “What you did was…correct. You saw something strange, and you reported it directly. That is exactly what I told you to do.”

“Is,” Hermione piped up, “is it likely he’ll be found guilty?

“More likely than not,” McGonagall said. “But…perhaps he will find some way to get through it? He is a talented pyroneer, and intelligent man. Very intelligent. Although, his people-skills are perhaps not the most desirable…”

She smiled distantly. Then, she shook her head and looked down at the children. 

“None of this is your concern,” she said. “It is, once again, a matter for adults. You are still too young to fret over such things. Go on – off to your dorm! It is past your bedtime. Shoo!”

Feeling dazed, Harrius let himself be shooed out of the hall. He felt strange, almost empty. Things hadn’t gone how he’d expected at all. 

Just as he was turning to head up the stairs, he stepped on something which slid under his foot. Blinking, he looked down. It was a narrow blue piece of paper – the same one which Snape had been holding earlier.

Harrius picked it up and turned it over. It was a label for caustic soap.

He frowned. 

Ahead, Ron paused on the stairs. “Mate, are you coming?”

“I,” Harrius said. 

The cogs were turning in his brain. Something didn’t add up. In fact, something was terribly, horribly wrong. 

What was it that McGonagall had just said?

He stepped back into the hall.

“Um, sorry, Professor,” he said. “But…did you just say that Snape is a pyroneer?”

“Yes,” McGonagall said, without looking up. “He’s a multi-disciplinarian, like yourself. Pyromancer and divineer.”

“So…not telepath, then?” Harrius said.

“No.”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “Oh no.”


	27. The Shorter Snape Conspiracy

Harrius barely slept that night. He drifted in and out of shallow nightmares, his mind restless, assembling and reassembling the puzzle pieces. The diary. The daemon. The telepath. Flamel’s Pylon. How did it connect? If not Snape, then who..?

He did not know – and the next morning, he felt terrible. His eyes were scratchy, his head ached, and his heart was heavy with guilt and unease. He’d turned Snape in to the Inquisition – but he’d been wrong. He’d fucked up, monumentally. If Snape died, it was his fault. He might not have liked the man, but he hadn’t wanted this. This was all wrong. 

Slowly, he got dressed, and dragged himself out into the common room. There, he was unsurprised to learn that the entire school had been locked down overnight. Students were to remain in their dorms, while a school-wide inspection occurred.

Perseus had been locked in with the first-phase Raptora cohort, much to his and the cohorts’ dismay, and he was fielding their questions with typical bluntness. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here,” he snapped. “Yes, it might be multiple days. No, I don’t know why they’ve instigated the lockdown. It’s not my place to know. Not yours either!”

Someone asked about meals, and Perseus told them that food would be brought up to the dorm. Someone else asked about classes, and Perseus lifted up an enormous paper binder, dropping it heavily on a nearby table. “Your tutors have provided worksheets!” he said, to a chorus of groans.

As Perseus began distributing the homework, Harrius drifted over the Ron and Hermione. 

“I guess we know who’s behind this lockdown,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Ron blew out his cheeks. “The Inquisition sure moves quickly!”

“At least they’ll definitely find that diary this time,” Hermione said. “Since it’s the Inquisition.”

“Maybe,” Harrius mumbled. 

Hermione looked at him. “You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know,” Harrius said. “I don’t know anything. I…I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.”

“Alright,” Hermione said.

They were silent as Perseus came and handed them each a thick stack of paper and told them to sit down. Shortly, it became apparent that there was not enough table space in the common room for every student to sit and do work – but Perseus refused to accept this for thirty minutes. Convinced that there was some configuration of tables which would allow everyone space, he got the students to rearrange the furniture over and over, before eventually admitting defeat, and allowing some of them to sit on the floor. 

No sooner was everyone getting settled, when the door banged open, and a pair of kitchen servitors stumbled in. They were carrying a crate between them, which turned out to be full of breakfast foods. Unfortunately, they had not been particularly gentle with the crate, and some of the foods had leaked into others. 

Perseus yelled at the impassive servitors for five minutes, and then spent another five minutes furiously scooping the jam out of the eggs. He then discovered that the milk had spilled into the bread, and a small vein appeared at his temple. He took a deep breath, told everyone to just have their bloody breakfast, and then went and sat down in the corner, fingers on the bridge of his nose. There was jam on his shirt, and his hair was sticking up, but no-one dared tell him. 

The students picked their way through soggy bread and dry cereal, before settling down to work through their study sheets. With Perseus watching balefully from the corner, everyone was on their best behaviour, and the common room was silent aside from the scratching of pens on paper.

From his spot at the end of a table, Harrius stared at his Literacy sheet without really seeing it. He felt tired – tired to the bone, tired to the very soul. He’d had enough of thinking and doing things. He just wanted to hide under a blanket and sleep. He wanted to forget everything.

He tried to concentrate on the homework. He got half a page done, and then drifted away, staring at nothing. His eyes felt dry. He closed them for a minute, just to moisten them up a bit...

When he looked up again, the clock had jumped forward several hours. Nothing else had changed – Perseus was still in the corner, and his friends were still quietly working away at their sheets. Hermione have him a slightly concerned look, but she didn’t say anything. 

Harrius tried again to finish his worksheet and got through another half page. Then, the clock hit 12:00, and Perseus abruptly stood up.

Everyone stopped working to look at him.

“Almost lunchtime,” Perseus said, dusting off his hands. “Time to go down and get the lunch crate!”

“But-” Parvati said.

“I’m not relying on those bloody servitors again!” Perseus announced. “Useless drones. Lunch will be much more tidy and efficient if we fetch it ourselves! Now – I’m going to need two volunteers!”

He stalked around the tables, and picked out two students who had almost completed their stack of homework. One of them was Hermione. Looking slightly bemused, she got up and followed him out of the dorm. 

Once Perseus had vanished, everyone began talking at once. 

“Do you think they’re allowed to do that?” Ron said to Harrius. “They’re not going to get mown down on sight by the Inquisition, are they?”

“What, Perseus?” Harrius said. 

“You’re right,” Ron said. “If they shot him, they’d never hear the end of it. His ghost would complain for years.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Perseus returned triumphant, the lunch crate in tow. Hermione, breathing heavily, collapsed into her chair, wiping sweat off her brow. 

“Throne!” she huffed. “I am NOT doing that again! Do you know, he made US carry the crate up the stairs? He didn’t even help at all!”

She glared at Perseus, who was busy opening the crate, a smug look on his face.

“Did anyone question what you were doing?” Ron asked. “Did you get to see Perseus yell at the Inquisition about how much he hates servitors?”

“No,” Hermione said. “I didn’t see the Interrogator or her gunmen around. There were lots of wardens, and some other people who looked like Ecclesiarchy, but aside from staring a bit, they didn’t try and stop us. They were busy emptying all the drawers and turning the paintings around.”

“So they haven’t found it,” Harrius muttered. 

“I suppose not,” Hermione said. “But it has only been half a day, and Branch H is a large building.”

Harrius sighed.

Hermione gave him a worried look. “Harrius, what’s wrong? You’ve looked terrible all morning.”

Harrius sunk in his seat. “I just…I just don’t think they’re going to find it at all,” he said. 

“Mate,” Ron said, “this is the Inquisition we’re talking about! They’re going to find it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Harrius said. “Whoever is behind all this…I have a bad feeling that they knew the Inquisition was going to show up. And if they knew, then they could plan ahead, and hide the diary somewhere really hard to find…”

“What makes you so sure they knew?” Hermione said. “It could have been a coincidence...”

“No,” Harrius said. “There have been too many coincidences! What happened was too perfect. I’m pretty sure that they set it up. It’s as Snape said – we’re part of their game…”

“Who?” Hermione said gently. “Who is “they”?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t is!” Harrius said, and he smacked his hands on the table. 

“OK,” Hermione said, leaning back. “Let’s…let’s have a look at the evidence, shall we?”

Harrius looked at her. “Evidence?”

“The things we know for sure,” Hermione said, taking out a pen. “For example, we know that the person who has the diary is a telepath. This already narrows it down a lot, since there are very few telepaths in the school.”

Harrius frowned. “Right,” he said. “None of the students are telepaths. So it’s definitely one of the professors.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “And we know it ISN’T Snape, since he’s a pyroneer.”

“It’s not McGonagall – she’s a telekine,” Harrius said, sitting up straighter. “And Flitwick is a divineer...”

“Sinistra is a telepath!” Ron said. “Ex-astropath!”

Hermione wrote ‘Sinistra’ in her notebook.

“Hooch is a telekine,” Harrius continued. “And I’m pretty sure that Quirrell is a biomancer.”

“What about Binns?” Ron said. 

“He’s a pyromancer, isn’t he?” Hermione said. 

“Is he?” Ron said. “Do we know for sure?”

Hermione paused, then wrote down ‘Binns?’.

“Is that it?” Harrius said.

“No,” Ron said. “There are a bunch of others, who don’t specifically teach us. Like Sprout, the head of Pavoni.”

“Well, Sprout is obviously a biomancer,” Hermione said.

“Is she?” Harrius leaned in. “What if she’s a multi, like Snape?”

“Oh, Throne,” Hermione said, putting down her pen. “You’re right. Any of the professors could be multi-disciplinarians.”

“Back to square one!” Ron said.

They all fell silent, thinking. 

“If it wasn’t Snape in the library yesterday,” Ron said, “then why did he look like Snape? You said you saw his face, didn’t you, Harrius?”

“Yeah,” Harrius said. “But it was dark, and I only saw him for a second. It was probably some kind of psychic trick.”

“Bloody psykers, amirite?” Ron said.

“You know,” Hermione said, “I should have realised that it wasn’t Professor Snape sooner. Professor Snape is quite a tall man. The person yesterday was noticeably shorter. They were only about four and half shelves tall, while Snape is at least five.”

“An unconventional unit of measurement,” Ron said, “but I’ll take it!”

“So, what,” Harrius said, “we know the approximate height of the telepath?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “They’re…around average height.”

“So not Flitwick then,” Ron grinned. 

Hermione sent him a disapproving look.

By this time, the lunch crate had been unloaded, and everyone took a break to grab a sandwich. Perseus, meanwhile, got everyone to shuffle around, so that those on the floor could have a turn sitting at the table. Harrius, Ron, and Hermione were among those who ended up on the floor for the afternoon.

As they leant against the wall and munched on bread, Ron suddenly nudged Harrius. “Hey,” he said, “I might be missing something here but…if Snape isn’t a telepath, then how was it he read your mind that one time? You know, when you stole my ermine?”

Harrius paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“Well?” Ron said. “What’s your explanation?”

Harrius put the sandwich down. “Quirrell was also there,” he said slowly. “I assumed it was Snape reading my mind, but…maybe it was him?”

“So he’s the telepath!?” Ron said. “Hermione, write this down!”

“Or,” Harrius said slowly.

“Or?”

“Or, that wasn’t Snape,” Harrius said. “Think about it! We know our telepath can make themselves look like Snape – but maybe yesterday wasn’t the first time they did that? What if they’ve been masquerading as Snape for longer?”

“Holy Terra!” Ron said.

“Two Professor Snapes?” Hermione wrinkled her nose. 

“Could be,” Harrius said.

“Do you remember,” Hermione said, “if Snape seemed any shorter that day?”

“I…don’t remember, no.” 

Hermione sighed. “I think this one seems a little far-fetched, don’t you?”

“It’s either this,” Harrius said, “or Quirrell is secretly an evil genius.”

“Psh, that couldn’t possibly be true,” Ron said. “Quirrell can’t even plan his own classes in advance!”

“Well, there you go,” Harrius said. “Two Snapes!”

He wanted to say more, but just then Perseus clapped his hands, and told everyone to get back to work. Reluctantly, Harrius dragged the enormous stack of homework onto his lap. He’d still barely done any of it.

“Crap,” he muttered, and picked up his pen.

The afternoon passed in a strange mix of tension and monotony. Harrius made better progress on his pile of worksheets, although not enough to catch up to everyone else.

As dinnertime approached, more than half of the students had finished their work, and were getting restless. They’d been trapped in their dorm all day, with no talking allowed, and no end in sight. Paper rustled as they passed notes or built paper planes, and every two minutes Perseus told someone off for giggling.

Finally, around 17:00, Perseus announced that class time was over. In the ensuring cacophony, he grabbed two more students to come with him to collect the dinner crate. One of them was Neville – and the second Neville came back, red faced and sweating, Harrius made a beeline towards him.

“So, what’s going on out there?” he asked casually.

Neville, who was still breathing heavily, took a moment to respond. “N-nothing much, really,” he said. 

“Did you see any wardens? Or Ecclesiarchy looking through the cupboards?”

“No,” Neville said.

“No?” Harrius eyed him. “Huh. I wonder where they went?”

Ron and Hermione had come up behind him, and he turned to look at them meaningfully. 

“It sounds like they’ve finished searching the lower floors,” Hermione said. “I imagine they’re all upstairs now.”

“Searching?” Neville said. “What are they searching for?”

“Um,” Harrius said. “We can’t tell you. Sorry.”

Neville frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s classified,” Ron said. 

Neville stared at him. “Classified? How do you guys know classified stuff? What…what’s going on?”

“Um,” Harrius said, glancing at the others.

Neville pouted. “You guys don’t tell me anything! And you’re always d-doing things without me! I’m…I’m in the Blackship Bud Squad too! A-aren’t I?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione said. “We just…its…um…” She trailed off.

“You ARE part of the Bud Squad,” Harrius said. “But we’re LITERALLY not allowed to tell anyone about this. McGonagall said so.”

“How do you know about it, then?”

“Accidentally,” Harrius said.

Neville sighed. 

“Fine,” he said. “If McGonagall said you can’t, then I understand.”

He sat down at a nearby table, chin propped in his hands. “I’m just sick of today!” he said. “No-one told us why we’re stuck in the common room, or for how long! And meanwhile, first-phase Pyrae are allowed out of their room just fine!”

“What?” Harrius said. “Pyrae are allowed out of their room?”

“Yeah,” Neville said. “I saw ‘em! Heading down the corridor, bold as brass!”

“Which corridor?” 

“I dunno. Ground floor, near the bathrooms. Do you think it’s because our House has the lowest points? Are we being punished? Or is it just Snape playing favourites again?”

“Snape??” Harrius said. He leaned closer. “Neville…this really important. Did you see Snape downstairs?”

“Yeah, he was there, with Pyrae,” Neville said. “Favouritism, as I said. Perseus doesn’t let us go anywhere, unless he’s making us lug a crate up two flights of stairs…”

He kept talking, but Harrius wasn’t listening. He had turned to stare at Ron and Hermione with an expression of horror.

“That wasn’t Snape,” he said. “It can’t have been! At least, not the real one…”

“Shorter Snape?” Hermione said disbelievingly.

“Shorter Snape!” Ron said, eyes wide. 

“Shorter Snape!” Harrius hissed.

“But what’s he doing?” Hermione said. “Where is he taking Pyrae?”

“The bathrooms,” Harrius said feverishly. “That’s near the basement! And in the basement..!”

“Flamel’s Pylon!” Hermione said.

They all stared at each other. 

“Um,” Neville said. “Pardon my language, but – what the HECK are you talking about? Who is Shorter Snape?”

“We have to go down there,” Harrius said, ignoring him. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but it's definitely something bad! We have to stop him!”

“I agree,” Hermione said. “Although, I don’t think going down there ourselves is a good idea. We should tell an adult.”

“Who?” Harrius said. “There aren’t any adults nearby! Unless you count Perseus?”

They all looked at Perseus, who was at that moment angrily cutting the crusts off a slice of bread. 

“I see your point,” Hermione said.

“So, what,” Ron said. “We somehow escape the dorm, sneak downstairs, break into the basement, again, and then pick a fight with an adult psyker, who may or may not turn into another Eyeball halfway through?”

“Obviously, we should try and avoid a fight,” Harrius said. “But otherwise, yes.”

“How are we going to stop him, without fighting him?” Ron said.

“I don’t know,” Harrius said. “I’ll think of something!”

“Emperor protect us,” Ron muttered.

Hermione opened and shut her mouth, the gears visibly turning in her brain. “What if we tried to go upstairs and find help?”

“It’s risky,” Harrius said. “We have no idea where anyone is, or how many obstacles are in the way. They could be floors and floors above! It could take hours to find anyone, and Shorter Snape is acting right now!”

“You’re right,” Hermione said. “Dammit.”

They all turned to look at the door to the common room. Perseus was sitting right next to it, watching over all like a crotchety hawk.

“So, how do we get past him?” Ron said.

“I have an idea-” Harrius began.

“Wait a minute,” Neville interrupted. He stood up, and moved to stand in front of Harrius. “W-where are you going?” he said. 

“Neville,” Harrius said. “Please-”

“No, Harrius,” Neville said. “You’re about to try and sneak out! I heard you! You’re gonna go off and more break rules, and lose one hundred points again – and – and I think you shouldn’t!”

“Neville,” Harrius said. “This is really important – more important than any amount of points! You don’t understand..!”

“Yeah, I don’t understand,” Neville said, “because you won’t tell me!”

“I CAN’T tell you!” Harrius hissed. “But trust me, we’re not getting into trouble for no reason!”

“You’re still getting into trouble, though,” Neville said. “And you…you shouldn’t! There’s probably a good reason why we’re not supposed to leave our room! Just because you don’t know it, and because Pyrae is allowed out, doesn’t mean you are! You can’t just do what you want – that’s not how things work! Haven’t you heard what Professor McGonagall and everyone has been telling us this whole time? Psykers who don’t follow the rules get k-killed! I, I won’t let you get killed, Harrius! I won’t let you leave this room! If you try, I’ll – I’ll fight! I’ll fight you!”

Harrius sighed.

“I know, Neville,” he said. “I know that disobeying the rules is bad. But you’re wrong about one thing – I do know why we’re confined to our room. And because I know that, I know that staying here and doing nothing is, in this case, actually worse.”

“What could possibly be that bad?” Neville said. “Why do you personally have to get involved?”

Harrius took a deep breath.

“Neville,” he said in a low voice, “do you know what a daemon is?”

Neville paused, his face paling. “They…they’re not real!” he squeaked. 

“They’re real alright,” Harrius said – and as concisely as he could, he explained everything which had happened. Neville listened with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. 

“And so,” Harrius ended, five minutes later, “that’s why we have to stop Shorter Snape! And it has to be us, because who else is there? The adults are all out of reach – exactly as Shorter Snape planned! So please, you can join us, or you can stay here – but PLEASE don’t try to stop us!”

Neville stood where he was for a moment longer. Then, slowly, he moved aside.

“Thank you,” Harrius breathed. “Okay – I have a plan on how to get out of the dorm. But first, is there anything we should bring with us?”

Neville put up his hand. 

“Can…can I bring Trevor?” 

“What?” he said, when everyone looked at him. “You said I could join you! If this is really that important, then I want to be involved! I’m sick of being left out.”

Harrius blinked at him, and then slowly grinned. “Alright,” he said. “The Blackship Bud Squad, at full power! 

“And yes,” he added, “you can bring Trevor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Bigger Luke, my favourite ever conspiracy theory


	28. Below the Basement

While Neville retrieved Trevor, Harrius and the others filled their own pockets with small, potentially useful items. They wanted to be as prepared as possible. Harrius grabbed several pens, a nail file, and some emergency snacks. 

As he hastily loaded savoury crackers into his pockets, his hand brushed something crinkly. Pulling it out, he saw it was the blue caustic soap label which Snape had dropped yesterday.

He paused, staring down at it. Did it mean something? Had Snape dropped it on purpose..?

A frown on his face, blue paper in hand, he moved into the dorm bathroom. The label was vaguely familiar... Crouching, he opened the tiny cupboard underneath the sink and sure enough, there it was – a small box of powdered caustic soap, the label identical.

Harrius eyed it for a moment, then reached in and grabbed it. He felt that he owed it to Snape to trust him, just this once. Besides, he knew that caustic soap made a pretty good weapon in a pinch.

The box only just fit in his largest coat pocket, and only after relocating a lot of crackers – but he jammed it in, and then hurried back out to the common room. The others were already there waiting. 

“So, genius man,” Ron said, “how do we get past Perseus?”

“Just watch,” Harrius said.

He walked over to where Seamus was lounging, feet up on the table, mouth full of mashed potatoes.

“Hey Seamus,” he said. “If you start a fight right now, I’ll do your maths homework tomorrow.”

Seamus finished chewing his food. “Done,” he said.

He put down his plate and then, with no hesitation, reached over and batted Dean’s plate out of his hands.

Dean looked at his dinner, face down on the floor, and turned to glare at Seamus. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Fuck yo ‘taters,” Seamus said gleefully, and shoved him.

Dean shoved back, and in seconds it had turned into a proper scuffle. Other students were caught in the crossfire, and mashed potatoes flew through the air. Perseus abandoned his corner to yell at everyone. 

“Now!” Harrius said.

They made a beeline for the door and, before anyone noticed, they’d slipped out into the hallway. 

As the door snapped shut behind them, the abrupt silence was startling. Ahead, most of the lights were off, plunging familiar hallways into eerie shadow. 

Harrius let out a breath. “Ready?” he said.

His friends nodded. Their faces were determined. 

They cast off into the dark, breaking into a run. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the empty stairs. Usually at this time of evening there would be students, prefects, wardens, and kitchen servitors everywhere – but they didn’t see another soul on their way to the basement.

As they arrived at the tiny sub-corridor behind the ground-floor bathrooms, Neville eyed it sceptically. “This is where Pyrae was going?”

“It may look like a humble broom closet,” Ron said, “but I assure you – it is actually the entrance to an entire realm of broom closets!”

Harrius tried the handle, expecting it to be locked – but it wasn’t. “Open,” he said, pushing the door wide. “I guess Shorter Snape didn’t bother to lock it behind him.”

“Thanks?” Ron said.

Hermione and Neville peered curiously down the stairwell. There was a light on at the base, currently out of sight, casting striped shadows through the banisters.

“Well, come on, then,” Harrius said. 

He led the way down the stairs, turning into the now familiar basement corridor. The fluorescent lights were on, buzzing harshly in their brackets, but the usual hum of machinery had faded.

“What’s in all these rooms?” Neville said nervously, as they turned the corner into another long, straight corridor, lined with metal doors. 

“Supplies, mostly,” Harrius said. “But we’re looking for the room with the Steropean Witch-killer.”

“The what?” Neville said.

“It’s OK,” Harrius said. “We've met before. It's name is Fluffy.”

As they reached the skull-marked door however, he wasn’t feeling particularly confident. Sure, Fluffy hadn’t eaten him last time – but that had been in Hagrid’s presence. Without Hagrid, there was no guarantee that the massive lizard would remember him or put aside its homicidal tendencies.

He had to try, though. The entrance to Flamel’s Pylon was through Fluffy’s cage. It was the only way forward.

Taking a breath, he reached for the handle. “You should probably stay behind me,” he said – and stepped into the room.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust – but he heard the crunching immediately. Turning to pinpoint the noise, he caught sight of Fluffy’s hulking shape, crouched in a corner. The xeno-beast was chewing on something. Fragments of metal and wire lay scattered on the floor at its feet, sparking occasionally. Wet chunks of viscera lay amongst torn scraps of red cloth. 

Behind Harrius, Ron made a high-pitched noise. “Is that…??”

“Shh!” Harrius hissed.

Taking another breath, he stood as tall as he could, and made kissy noises, just like Hagrid did. “Hello, F-Fluffy! Who’s a good boy?!”

The massive xeno-beast jerked up its head. Blood and black oil dripped from its jaws. 

“Not a good boy!” Ron wheezed. “NOT a good boy!”

Ignoring Ron and his own racing heart, Harrius stepped forwards. Show ‘im yer the boss, Hagrid said in his memory. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed a fist full of savoury crackers and held them out flat. “H-here, boy!” he said. “Do you want some treats? You want s-some treats, don’t you?”

Fluffy abandoned the grisly remains of the Mechanicus priest and stalked forwards, tongue flickering in and out. It was so huge – a predatory giant. If it wanted to, it could swallow Harrius in one gulp.

Harrius rigidly held out the crackers and made more kissy noises. His stomach was twisting into knots, sweat beading on his brow. He desperately wanted to run – but he knew that running was much more dangerous than standing his ground. If he ran, he was prey. 

Fluffy loomed closer. Its mouthparts opened, revealing rows of needle-sharp fangs. Harrius winced. 

The crackers vanished from his hand. Saliva dripped between his fingers. 

“G-good Fluffy,” Harrius gasped.

The lizard crunched noisily, showering Harrius with crumbs. Harrius brought out another handful. 

“Go,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth. “That door back there..!”

He heard the others slip past. Fluffy swallowed the second handful of crackers, and nudged Harrius, almost knocking him over. Harrius gingerly scratched the base of its crest, and it closed its eyes happily.

Harrius brought out a third handful of crackers and, making sure Fluffy was watching, he scattered them on the floor. Fluffy dropped its head and began snuffling after them. Harrius backed away slowly.

Behind him, he heard a scraping noise. “Harrius!” Hermione hissed. 

He glanced around and saw that the others had opened the door. Fluffy was still distracted, so he quickly backed the rest of the way out of the room.

Once the door was closed again, he sunk against the wall in relief. His legs were shaking and he felt light-headed. “Holy Emperor,” he wheezed. “I SO glad that worked.”

“Me too,” Ron said fervently. “I don’t wanna end up like that priest!”

“I have an awful feeling that Shorter Snape had something to do with that priest’s death,” Hermione said seriously.

“Probably,” Ron said. “If I was a proud xeno monster, I would never eat a Mechanicus priest by choice. Can you imagine the taste? Disgusting!”

Behind him, Neville hugged Trevor close, looking queasy.

Harrius took a moment to catch his breath, before taking a look at their new surroundings. They were standing at the top of another stairwell, curving down and out of sight.

“Looks like the Pylon is below the basement,” Ron said, poking his head around the corner. “I wonder how far down it goes?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Harrius said, pushing himself off the wall. 

They set off down the stairs, quickly but cautiously. At the base, they came out into another corridor, with a large -2 printed on the otherwise blank white wall.

The corridor was short and straight, with a single door at the far end. Harrius was about to run right down the middle – but something made him pause. 

The corridor was…odd. There were strange square holes built into the sides, like windows, but without glass. On the ceiling, walls, and sunk into the floor, were a series of round, irregularly spaced, pitted devices. 

“Hold on a minute,” Harrius said, throwing out an arm to stop the others from barrelling ahead. “I don’t trust this corridor!”

“Why not?” Ron said.

Harrius eyed the windows, and the round devices, and he frowned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one the pens he’d stored there. 

He tossed the pen into the hall. It arced gracefully through the air-

A barrage of laser fire blasted the pen into oblivion.

Ron and Neville both shouted in surprise.

“There!” Harrius yelled. “I saw movement in the windows!”

“What are they?” Hermione said. “Some variety of gun turret?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ron said. “Why are they here??”

“Security,” Harrius said. “I guess Fluffy wasn’t enough?”

“Well, how are we supposed to get past a bunch of guns?” Ron threw up his hands.

“Don’t know,” Harrius said. “But there must be a way. The priests probably pass through all the time…”

“W-what about that?” Neville said.

He was pointing off to the side, where a small cogitator terminal sat in the wall. The screen was currently dark, but a green light blinked at the side, indicating power.

“That’s it!” Harrius said.

He threw another pen at the cogitator, just in case it was boobytrapped, but the pen bounced harmlessly off. Then, while the others watched from the doorway, he approached the cogitator and woke it up. Rows of green ones and zeroes began scrolling down, before settling to display a home directory, with one subfile.

“Security!” Harrius read out. He clicked on it, and a binary message popped up – 

01100101 01101110 01110100 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 

– which translated to Enter Password.

“Ah,” Harrius said. “Well, that’s a problem.”

“It’s in binary?” Hermione said. “Let me have a look, I might be able to translate-”

“No, I can read binary, actually,” Harrius said, as she joined him in front of the cogitator. “The problem is that it’s asking for a password.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Yes. That is a problem.”

Harrius tried a few number combinations, but nothing happened. “I don’t think we can guess it,” he said. “We don’t even know how long it is.”

“Try ‘admin’,” Hermione said.

Harrius typed it in. It didn’t work.

“Dammit,” Hermione said.

Stumped, they both returned to the doorway, and stared down the corridor in frustration.

“How did, um, Shorter Snape get through?” Neville said.

“I bet he knew the password,” Harrius grumbled. “Maybe that priest upstairs told it to him, before he was mauled to death.”

“Argh!” Ron kicked a wall. “Are we seriously being thwarted by a regular security measure? Are we not a trained Choir of psykers? Can we not telekinesis our way past this problem!?”

“I don’t see how telekinesis can work against laser guns,” Hermione said.

“Well, what if we put up a shield?”

“What if it doesn’t hold?”

While Ron and Hermione began to argue over the feasibility of stopping a barrage of laser fire, Harrius stared at the round devices on the ceiling and walls. What were they? How were they related to the laser turrets? If he knew, would he be able to get past them?

He breathed in and out, shutting out the arguing, and reached for the warp. Suddenly, he could see a lot more. He could feel the shape of the hall ahead, the solid static of the walls, the buzzing channels of electrical current. He knew that behind each window was an alcove, with a bulky object inside. The objects felt alive, but also not, pulsing with body heat and run through with electrical cables.

“Servitors,” he muttered.

He focused next on the round devices, and frowned. They weren’t part of the servitor turrets after all, at least not directly. Instead…

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “It’s all lasers!”

The others stopped arguing to look at him. 

Harrius pointed to the ceiling and the walls. “Those things,” he said, “I know how they work! See all the pits in the side? Each one has a thin light beam coming out or going into it! There’s a whole lattice of beams, zigzagging across the corridor! And when something hits a beam, that’s what triggers the guns to fire!”

Everyone was silent for a moment.

“If they’re light beams,” Ron said, “then why can’t we see them?”

Harrius vaguely waved a hand. “You can’t see it unless it hits something, and as soon as it hits something, the something gets blasted.”

“You can see them, though?” Hermione asked. 

“Well, not exactly,” Harrius said. “I can just feel the difference in temperature.”

“How precisely can you feel it?” Hermione said. “Could you, for example, dodge and weave your way through the beams, arriving safely at the far end of the corridor without triggering the guns?”

“Maybe?” Harrius said. “It would be difficult, though. And I could only get myself through, not everyone else.”

“If only we were all pyromancers,” Ron said. 

“Or if only it was dusty in here,” Hermione frowned. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know, like a dusty sunbeam,” Hermione said. “The beams would be a lot more visible if there was dust in the air.”

Harrius looked around at the floor, but there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen. “Dammit. Whoever cleans this room is really good!”

“Um, what about chalk dust?” Neville said. 

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large packet of colourful chalk. 

“Neville, those are chalk sticks,” Ron said. 

“Yeah, but what if we ground them down?”

“Mate, that’s going to take ages,” Ron said. “Plus, even if we grind them down, how do we get them into the air? Blow on them? Or do you propose that we telekinetically float a bazillion tiny particles all at once?”

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully.

“What, you think you could do that?” Ron said.

“I couldn’t personally,” Hermione said. “But…as a Choir..?”

They were all silent for a moment.

“I think we should at least try,” Harrius said.

No one objected, so they dumped Neville’s chalk out onto the floor, and Ron stomped on it. Once there was a decent amount of dust, they stood in a circle around the chalk, hands on each other’s arms and shoulders, and initiated the Choir. 

Hermione was Wield, and she raised a hand above the pile. Some of the larger pieces twitched and levitated upwards, orbiting her palm. 

“No,” Hermione muttered. “Smaller.”

She narrowed her eyes, and dust began to trickle upwards in a thin stream, coiling around her arm, rising up towards the ceiling like smoke. Above her head, it blossomed outwards in a colourful cloud. 

“More,” Hermione breathed. 

Greater amounts of dust were caught in the stream, and the clouds began to billow and spread. Larger chunks of chalk were dragged upwards, exploding outwards in slow particle puffs of rainbow colours. Above, the clouds began to turn in a spiral, Hermione at their epicentre. 

Soon, there was no more chalk on the ground. Hermione raised her hand, fingers splayed, and pointed it towards the field of beams.

The clouds surged down the corridor – and as they did, the beams of light became visible. They were thin and red, criss-crossing the hall in every which direction, flickering in and out of view as chalk dust gusted through them.

“Ha!” Harrius said. “There they are!”

They dropped the Choir – although Hermione continued to stir up the chalk cloud with her own power.

“We need to move carefully and quickly, before it all settles,” she said.

The others nodded, and one by one, they entered the field of beams. Crouching low, taking their time, they dodged and stepped their way around the thin red lasers.

There were a few tense moments, but they all made it through without triggering the turrets. Hermione went last, and when she stepped through the door on the far end, they all cheered and gave each other hi-fives. 

“Two death-traps down!” Ron grinned. “Blackship Bud Squad!”

“Hopefully, there aren’t any more,” Harrius muttered. 

The next doorway led into another stairwell, and they hurried down it. At the base was another cogitator station, beside a bulky metal door, with a small red light blinking above the handle. There was a fish-eye peephole near the top of the door, and the others hoisted Harrius up so he could look through it. 

Harrius reported another white corridor, marked -3, but otherwise even emptier than the last one. There were no weird alcoves or round devices in the ceiling, only a couple of air vents, and a door at the far end, similarly large and bulky to the one which presently stood in their way.

“Do you think it’s another trap?” Hermione said. “Or are the locked doors in themselves the obstacle?”

Back on the ground, Harrius approached the cogitator station and woke it up. It showed the exact same screen as last time, with an identical password prompt.

“No clues here,” he said.

“Can you feel ahead and make out anything electrical?” Hermione asked him. 

Harrius shook his head. “Not with that giant metal door in the way. Although,” he added, “I could look at the door itself? I might be able to unlock it.”

“Go on, then,” Ron said. 

They stepped back as Harrius placed his hands on the door and reached for the warp. Closing his eyes, he moved his hands around the door handle, feeling for the mechanism behind it. There were currents inside, and following them, Harrius realised they were connected to the cogitator. An electronic lock…

Harrius spent a few moments wondering how the electronic lock worked, and how to trigger it – before realising there was an easier way. Sure, the mechanism was controlled by the cogitator but, in the end, it was a still a physical piece of metal keeping the door from opening. 

There was a loud crunch. The red light didn’t turn green – but it did turn off entirely.

Harrius stepped back and grinned, dusting his hands. 

“You broke it,” Hermione frowned at him.

“Can’t be locked if there’s no lock,” Harrius shrugged. 

“Cool!” Ron said – and stepped forwards, he reached for the handle. 

As he cracked open the door however, there was loud hiss of air and, a second later, a rapid beeping noise began. It was very close by, and Ron froze, while Harrius and Hermione looked around in alarm.

Beside them, Neville let out a scream, and lunged forwards. He shoved Ron to the side, and slammed the door closed, before turning and bolting up the stairs. As he retreated, so too did the shrill beeping noise.

“What the..?” Ron said. Then he coughed, and clutched at his chest.

“Get away from the door!” Harrius said sharply. He grabbed Ron, still coughing, and he and Hermione pulled him up the stairs.

Neville had gone back up to the upper landing, where he was nervously pacing, Trevor held out at arm’s length in front of him. Although decreased in urgency, the shrill beeping was still going. It was coming from the yellow frog.

While Ron doubled over in the corner, still coughing and wheezing, Harrius stared from Neville to Trevor and back again. His own chest had started feeling oddly tight. He had no idea what had just happened, although he was certain it was another death trap, narrowly escaped.

“Neville,” he said, and then paused to cough. “Neville, what just happened?”

“Gas,” Neville said firmly. “There’s gas in that room!”

In his hands, the shrill beeping abruptly ceased, and Neville looked down in relief. “Oh! It’s gone now,” he said. 

“Is,” Hermione said slowly. “Is Trevor…as gas detector?” 

“Yeah!” Neville grinned. “Gas was a big problem back in my hometown. Trevor saved my life a lot of times! You know, I was starting to think that I didn’t really need him here on Terra – but I’m so glad I brought him today!” 

He kissed the frog on its rubbery nose.

“Right,” Harrius said. “So um…how are we supposed to get past a room full of deadly gas?”

“Well, actually,” Neville said, “Trevor can help with that too!”

Before any of them could say another word, he flipped Trevor upside down, and unzipped its belly. Swiftly, expertly, he pulled Trevor inside out, shaking out the corners to reveal a gas mask. The clear plastic stripe became the eyepiece, and the respirator sections were recognisably Trevor’s bulging eyes, but inside out. Neville placed the device over his face and clipped it behind his head using Trevor’s former legs.

“There, see?” he said, his voice muffled. “Problem solved!”


	29. Regicide

With Trevor's help, the gas became a lot easier to traverse. Harrius borrowed Trevor first, clipping the former frog over his head and ducking into the gas corridor. At the far end, he opened the second door like he had the first.

On the other side, he waited a moment for residual gas to dissipate, before removing the mask. Then he took a deep breath, opened the door again, and tossed the gas mask in as far as he could. 

After that he could only wait, while the others collected the gas mask, telekinetically floating it as close to the first door as possible from their view through the tiny fish-eye window, before sticking an arm in to grab it. Shortly, the second door opened with a hiss of air, and Ron dashed through. 

They repeated the process twice more, until everyone was safely across, and standing at the top of yet another stairwell.

“Well, that’s three down,” Ron said. “Any bets on what the next one will be?”

“I hope there ISN’T a next one,” Harrius said. 

But there was – and the -4 corridor, unlike the two before it, looked immediately dangerous. 

The door at the far end was set off to the side, in a narrow recess, while the end of the corridor was taken up by a huge rectangular slab of metal. The slab was perfectly flush with the corridor walls, and set at regular intervals with enormous horizontal spikes.

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that if they screwed up, they would end up impaled on those spikes.

Harrius felt into the room for laser triggers, but he couldn’t sense any. The only clear sources of power he could feel were the light fixtures, and another cogitator terminal in an alcove to the left.

“I’m not sure how this one is activated,” he said. 

“Maybe it’s turned off?” Ron said hopefully.

Harrius frowned, and stepped into the corridor, eyes on the spikes.

The piece of floor he stepped on sunk slightly beneath his foot. There was a hydraulic hiss from the spike wall, and it jolted forwards.

Harrius shot back into the safety of the stairwell. 

“It’s on,” he said firmly.

They all bent to look closer at the floor. It looked the same as the previous floors – but now that he was paying attention to it, Harrius could feel some sort of network of plates beneath.

“So, what?” Ron said. “If we step on the floor, we die? Who came up with this “floor is lava” bullshit?”

“Well, I don’t think we die immediately,” Harrius said. “The spike wall didn’t seem to be moving very fast…”

“Maybe it gets faster the more plates you stand on?” Ron said. 

“No, I don’t think it has to,” Harrius said thoughtfully. “It only has to move forwards a little bit to block off the next door. Look, it’s already half blocking it. If we step on just one more plate, we won’t be able to get through.”

“So, we have to cross the entire corridor, without stepping on the floor once?” Ron said.

“Either that,” Hermione said, “or we figure out how to get the spike wall to retreat.”

“Well, that’s just going to be the bloody password again, isn’t it?” Ron said.

Hermione, who was standing closest to the cogitator, stepped closer and jabbed a button to wake it up.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Harrius – does this screen look different to you?”

Harrius moved closer. 

“Oh, that’s weird,” he said. 

“What? What does it say?”

“There’s the usual password message,” Harrius frowned, “but then there’s another bit, which says ‘solve for X’. And then…there’s a maths question?”

“Is that what those numbers are?” Hermione cocked her head. “X = 99*16. Should I solve it?”

“Um, excuse me, WHY is there a maths question?” Ron put up his hand.

“Might as well solve it,” Harrius shrugged.

Hermione’s mouth moved slightly. “Fifteen-hundred and eighty-four,” she muttered, and typed it in. 

The cogitator pinged cheerfully, and a new question appeared: X = 600/18. There was a ten second timer below it, counting down.

At the same moment, Harrius saw movement in the corner of his eye. Turning, he stared at the spike wall. Had it…moved back slightly?

“Hermione, solve the next one,” he said, eyeing the wall.

Hermione did so – and the moment she solved it, the wall inched backwards. It was now back to its starting position. 

“Holy Emperor,” Harrius said. 

“Are you fucking kidding me??” Ron waved his arms around. “We have to solve maths problems to get through? WHO decided to put this here? What sort of smug Mechanicus bastard looked at this corridor and said, you know what this security system needs? Arithmetic!”

He put on silly voice. “Ooh, I’m a Mechanicus priest with a GIANT BRAIN, and I think stupid flesh-bags can’t do maths to literally save their life! Well ha! Jokes on them – Hermione is a massive nerd!”

“Thanks?” Hermione said.

“So,” Neville said slowly, “Hermione solves some arithmetic problems on the cogitator, and…that keeps the spike wall at the back the room?”

“That certainly seems to be how this room works,” Harrius said.

“Let’s do a test run,” Hermione said. “Could one of you please step into the corridor?”

Harrius did so. The floor once more sunk beneath his weight, and the spike wall hissed ominously. Hermione began typing, the keys clattering loudly under her fingers. 

“Is it working?” she said, without looking around. “Good! Keep going.”

Harrius carefully stepped forwards onto a new plate. The wall remained where it was – but Hermione had begun typing faster. 

“Keep going,” she said again through her teeth. “Quick!”

Harrius stepped forwards again, several times. Then, Hermione cursed under her breath. Ahead, the spike wall jolted forwards. As it bore down on him, Harrius lost his nerve and dashed back to the stairwell.

Once he was back on solid ground, Hermione dropped her hands from the keyboard and turned to look at the others.

“Phew,” she grinned, wiping her brow. “This is difficult! The timer just gets faster and faster! But I think it’s doable! You just have to go quickly, and I have to concentrate...”

“Hermione,” Ron said.

She looked at him. “What?”

“You can see the problem here, right?”

“Which problem?” Hermione frowned. “This puzzle is as good as solved, trust me!” 

“Yeah, but even if you solve all the maths, and get all of us through the next door,” Ron said, “we can’t do the same for you. You’re going to be stuck here, on this side of the spike wall.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Yes. Well. I suppose that just means you’ll have to go on without me.”

“But we can’t do that!” Ron said. “You’re one of our main braincells! What if we encounter more maths?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Hermione said. “There’s still three of you!”

“Well, what will you do here?” Harrius asked. 

“I suppose I’ll wait for you to come back,” Hermione shrugged. “You’ll need me to neutralise the spikes again on the way back anyway…”

“But,” Ron said.

They were all silent for a moment. 

“It’s alright,” Hermione said. “Go on! You need to stop Shorter Snape from murdering Pyrae House! Or whatever he’s doing...”

“Fine,” Ron said. “But if we’re not back in like thirty minutes, you’d better go and get help, ‘cause that means we’re either dead in a pool of blood, or terminally stuck on the next puzzle.”

“OK,” Hermione said. “I’ll get help. But…please don’t die.”

“We’ll try not to,” Harrius said. 

Hermione nodded, and turned back to the cogitator. “Alright,” she said, and took a deep breath. “Everybody, get ready to run to the door. And don’t talk to me – I have to concentrate!”

She resumed typing – and the other three stepped into the corridor. It took a couple of tries, but eventually they made it through.

This time though, it felt less like a victory.

“Four down,” Ron muttered, as they trudged down the next stairwell. “When will this hellscape end?”

“Not yet,” Harrius sighed, eyeing -5.

It didn’t look good. This corridor was wider than the previous three, and very short, but the floor couldn’t have looked more like a trap if it tried. It was made of some dark material, and there was a clear eight-by-eight grid across it. Each square in the grid was outlined in a thin line of red light. Positioned above each of the squares in the ceiling was a small but extremely ominous nozzle.

“Yeah, this looks like some bullshit,” Ron said dismally.

Harrius reached into his pocket and took out another spare pen. He tossed it into the corridor. 

One of the ceiling nozzles swivelled. There was a brilliant flash and a loud CRACK, as the pen was incinerated in a beam of white-hot plasma.

A wave of heat and disturbed air rolled back and forth across the room for several seconds afterwards. 

“Fantastic,” Ron said.

“Do you think that we can go between them?” Neville asked. “Like with the lasers?”

Harrius, who was already psychically feeling around the room, shook his head. “No lasers this time. And no pressure plates either. There’s a whole lattice of stuff in the ceiling, but I don’t know how any of it works…”

“Can you break it?” Ron said. 

“Uhh,” Harrius said. “I wouldn’t know which part to break. And there’s a LOT of energy up there. If I broke the wrong bit, it might explode or something.”

“Could you control the explosion?”

“I doubt it,” Harrius said. “That would be like trying to telekinetically lift up an entire warehouse full of anvils.”

“Dammit,” Ron said. “Why did Hermione have to get left behind? I’m sure she would have thought of something by now!”

“Should we check the cogitator again?” Neville said, pointing off to the left. “Maybe there’s another maths game?”

Harrius, who was closest, went to check, and was unsurprised to find normal password message. 

As he exited out though, he noticed that there was an extra subfile in the home directory. It was labelled ‘Regicide’. Harrius opened it. 

The cogitator played an electronic jingle as the program booted up, before the screen settled to display a stylised black-and-green chequered grid – a digital Regicide board. Small icons of the game’s pieces appeared at their starting positions. 

There was a crackling noise, and a tinny voice recording said “Welcome, player! Please state your first move!” 

Harrius stared at the screen. “Huh?” 

“Unrecognised command,” the cogitator said. 

“Woah, what did you do?” Ron asked. 

Harrius turned around to explain – and stopped, staring at the floor. The red lines of light around some of the squares had changed to green.

“Wait a minute,” he said.

He exited out of the Regicide game, and watched the squares change back to red. Then he reopened Regicide, and they flickered back to green. The pattern was two rows of green, four rows of red, then two more rows of green – exactly the same as that displayed on the cogitator screen.

“Ron,” he said. “You’re not going to be believe this, but…I think someone connected the floor to a game of Regicide.”

“Unrecognised command,” the cogitator said again.

“What?” Ron said. “Why? W h y??”

Harrius shrugged. “I guess the Mechanicus priests were bored?”

While Ron continued to wave his hands around in exasperation, Neville reached into his pocket and brought out a small glass marble. He knelt and gently rolled the marble across the squares. It passed harmlessly over the two rows of green, before hitting a red square, and setting off an incinerator beam.

“Holy Emperor on His Golden Throne,” Ron said. 

He stepped in front of the cogitator. “Pawn to D3,” he said loudly. 

The tiny pawn icon on the screen jumped to D3. On the floor, both old and new squares blinked for a few seconds, and then the D3 position became solid green, while D2 became red.

Ron let out a whoop. “Do you know what this means?!” he yelled excitedly. “It means we can get across the room! Those cogheads must think they’re sooo smart, hooking up their game to the security system! Bet the numpty who did this was really proud! But guess what? It means we can beat their system! WE CAN PLAY OUR WAY ACROSS THE ROOM!”

Harrius eyed the Regicide game on the screen, which showed that the cogitator had made its own move. 

“I dunno, this seems a bit dangerous,” he said. “What if the game piece we’re standing on gets killed? Also, each time our piece moves, we’re only going to have, like, a second to get onto the new square. What if we end up on a red square?”

“Well,” Ron said, cracking his knuckles. “We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Don’t worry, Harrius – I’m an absolute BEAST at Regicide, remember?”

Harrius nodded slowly. “I suppose so,” he said. “So…where do we start?”

Ron thought for a moment. “OK,” he said. “We don’t want to stand on any pieces which moves diagonally, because that might mean accidentally passing through dangerous squares while moving. So that rules out pawns, bishops, and the queen. Also the king, but standing on that piece would be a bad idea anyway. So, Neville – I think you should be the left rook, and Harrius, the right rook. I’ll be the left knight.”

Harrius and Neville got into position, while Ron took time to turn the cogitator screen on its stand, so he could see it from the entire room. Then he got in position next to Neville. 

“Alright,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Alright. Emperor protect us – let’s begin!”

It was the tensest game of Regicide Harrius had ever taken part in. Ron called out each new move, watching intently as the squares between the old and new position blinked and solidified. The most stressful part was when Ron moved a piece on which someone was standing – they only had a second or two to dash to the new position, before the old position became solid red. 

Ron in particular had a few close shaves, as unlike the others, who moved in straight lines, his piece moved in an L-shape. Each time he changed position, he had to dodge around the corner, without overbalancing into any other squares. 

Fortunately though, it wasn’t too long before they had their first victory – Neville’s rook made it to the far end of the board. Shakily, he stepped away from the squares, and promptly sat down, his face pale. 

Meanwhile, the cogitator took their queen, but Ron mumbled something about necessary sacrifices, and kept going. 

A few moves later, Ron paused, and looked at Harrius. 

“Mate,” he said. “I can get you to the other side this turn. But…you’re going to have to book it.”

Harrius looked across the five squares between him and the end of the board, and took a breath. 

“I think I can make it,” he said.

Ron gave him a tight nod. “Get ready,” he said. “Alright. Rook to G8!”

Harrius saw the tiles start to blink. Adrenaline surging, he sprang into action, charging as fast as his legs would take him to the other side of the board. 

He was only barely fast enough. The second last tile became solid red a millisecond before he left it, and Harrius felt energy building in the ceiling above. There was a CRACK, terrifyingly close, as plasma lanced into the floor – but Harrius was already clear.

Shaking, heart thundering in his ears, he dropped down next to Neville. 

That just left Ron on the board, and with fewer people to look out for, Ron began playing faster, calling out command after command. Squares whizzed around the floor, pieces took pieces, and Ron got close to the end of the board – although the dogleg movement of his piece made it a little more difficult to land it exactly at the end. He was almost killed more than once when an enemy piece menaced him, forcing him to move away from the edge again.

Then, after narrowing escaping the enemy queen by retreating yet again, he stopped yelling commands and went quiet for a worryingly long time. 

“Ah,” he said. “Well that’s not good.”

“What is it?” Harrius asked him. “What’s happening?”

“I…I made a mistake,” Ron said. “I was focused on getting to the end of the board and I…they’re…they’re about to regicide me. Next turn. I…I don’t think I can stop it from happening. Or rather, the only way I can stop it is by sacrificing my knight this turn.”

“The knight you’re standing on?” Harrius said. “Well, obviously, you can’t do that!”

“I know,” Ron said. 

“Just let them win,” Harrius said. “We don’t actually care about winning the game!”

“Yeah, I know that too,” Ron said. “But if they regicide me, and the game ends, then all the squares go back to red!”

“Ah,” Harrius said. 

“Even BETTER,” Ron said, “I’m too far away. I can’t get to the end of the board in one turn. I need two turns!”

“So, you’re stuck?” Harrius said.

“Yep.”

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Neville hugged Trevor and stared from one to the other, his eyes huge and round.

“There’s a chance,” Harrius said slowly, “that the game will reset when it ends. If it does that, then the two rows of tiles on each end will go green. You…you can get to the second last row, right?”

“I can,” Ron said.

“And you’re sure that there isn’t any other option?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

There was another long moment of silence. Ron bit his lip. 

“Have you looked ahead, down the stairs?” he said. “Do you know if we’re almost there? Or are there a dozen more ridiculous death traps in the way? If I take the chance…is it at least worth it?” 

Harrius stood and went to look. He returned a moment later, expression serious. 

“There’s a big door covered in purity seals,” he said.

“Welp,” Ron said. “That sounds like the Shrine of the Pylon! Heh. We made it. Almost…”

He took a deep breath. “I’m going to chance it.”

“It might go red,” Harrius said. 

“Yeah,” Ron swallowed. “But it also might not. Knight…Knight to B7!”

Neville squawked in terror and covered his eyes. Ron sprinted around the dogleg to his new position, and then turned his stare at the tiny Regicide board on the cogitator.

The cogitator moved a bishop – and a tinny fanfare played through the speakers. “REGICIDE!” it said. “Player loses!” 

The program closed.

Ron had a millisecond to register this fact, before every single square blinked to red. His eyes widened, and he launched forward. 

Harrius saw Ron leap, and felt the energy surge in the ceiling above. There was no way Ron could run through both B7 and B8 in time. There was no way Ron would survive if he was hit-

Harrius tore into the warp. Power surged through him. 

The nozzle glowed. CRA-

Harrius seized the plasma and directed it away. It fissured outwards, though the mechanisms in the ceiling.

Ron passed beyond B8, and began to turn. “Holy-”

The ceiling exploded.

Harirus’s ears were whining with static. Gasping for breath, he picked himself up off the floor. Before him, the room was blazing, choking with acrid smoke. The ceiling had collapsed, burying the floor in burning debris. Waves of heat and dust buffeted the room.

Even worse, reality had been disturbed. The room swayed and buckled with warp energy. Half-formed faces, almost human, pressed out of the walls like it was thin cloth, mouths agape.

Harrius wrestled to push the warp down. It was difficult, like wading through deep snow, and even when he managed it, the warp continuing to churn, straining just below the skin of reality. 

He didn’t have time to worry about that, though. Ron – Ron was hurt. He had caught the blast full on and had been thrown across the room. He was laying where he’d fallen, unmoving. 

“Ron?” Harrius gasped, staggering towards him. 

There was blood on the floor. Ron’s forearm was bent all wrong. White bone splinters were visible between soaked red scraps of cloth. 

Harrius felt sick. His chest was tight, his stomach churning. Was…was Ron…? He knelt and lightly shook Ron’s shoulder. The boy’s head lolled back and forth. Blood dripped from one of his nostrils.

He was breathing. His chest was moving. He was still breathing. Ron was alive. Shaking, Harrius removed his jacket and used it to staunch the worst of the bleeding. Ron was alive…but it was bad. He needed medical attention. 

Something moved in the stairwell, and Harrius whipped around to look. Debris shifted, and Neville emerged, covered in dust and bleeding from a small cut over his eye.

When he saw Ron, his eyes widened and he began babbling something – but Harrius could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. 

Field aid. They’d done drills before, in Practical class. Bleeding was really bad, he remembered that. Tourniquet. Tourniquet! Harrius removed his undershirt and tied it tight around Ron’s upper arm. There was nothing he could do about the forearm for now – it was too badly mangled. The white fabric immediately soaked through red. 

Dazedly, Harrius realised that Hermione had appeared. She was saying something, but it didn’t matter. He had to make sure Ron went on breathing. He had to- 

“Harrius!” Hermione yelled in his ear.

He blinked, staring up at her. 

“We have to take him to the hospital!” she said.

“Wha-?”

“Hospital! Right now!”

“But,” Harrius struggled to bring himself back into the moment. “But, the security-”

“You blew it up!” Hermione gestured broadly at the room. “Power’s out! We can just walk back through most of it!”

“Oh,” Harrius swallowed. “The…the gas too? And Fluffy?”

“We’ll figure it out! C’mon, we need to hurry! Grab his shoulders!”

Numbly, Harrius helped her and Neville hoist Ron off the floor. Most of the fires in the rubble had died down, but it was still treacherous. They picked their way back across. 

With the power out, the stairs were pitch black, and full of smoke. Hermione took out a tiny flashlight and led the way up. The -4 corridor was also pitch black, but the floor no longer sunk beneath their weight, and the spike wall was dead. 

At -3, the gas room, they stopped for a moment to figure out logistics. Ron obviously needed to wear the mask – which meant that the others were just going to have to hold their breath and pray.

As Hermione and Neville weighed up the dangers, Harrius stood back for a moment to catch his breath and check his own body for injuries. He had gotten off amazingly lightly. Aside from a few small cuts and bruises, he was fine. The ringing in his ears had faded as well. He still felt somewhat dazed and ill, but now that they were taking Ron to the hospital, it wasn’t as bad. Ron was going to be fixed up in no time – he was sure of it.

Lastly, he reached tentatively for the warp, just to see if it had calmed down. To his surprise, he found that it hadn’t. In fact, if anything, it had gotten worse, writhing and seething like a pot boiling over.

Harrius frowned. That was…weird. Yes, he’d pushed into it too quickly before when he’d tried to save Ron – but usually it died down again a lot faster than this.

It dawned on Harrius that he wasn’t the only one stirring it up.

“Harrius,” Hermione tapped him on the shoulder. “Ready? On the count of three, we take a deep breath and open the door.”

Harrius hesitated.

“Grab his legs,” Hermione told Neville. “OK, one-” 

“Wait,” Harrius said. “I…I have to go back.”

“Pardon?” Hermione said. 

“Shorter Snape is still down there,” Harrius said slowly. “I can feel him…doing something. We can’t…we can’t just leave him to it! Not after everything we’ve been through!”

“You’re going to try and stop Shorter Snape, by yourself?” Hermione said.

“I,” Harrius said. “I have to try! I owe it to Ron. To all of us!”

“Well…alright,” Hermione said. “Neville and I can take Ron to the hospital. Then, we’ll come right back. And when we do, we’ll bring reinforcements!”

“O-OK,” Harrius breathed.

“So Harrius – you don’t have to stop him,” she said. “You only have to delay him for a little while. OK? I’d say…about twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Harrius said, and he took a deep breath. “I can do that!”

And with one last farewell nod, he turned and hurried back into the dark.


	30. The Diciple of Fate

Using pyrokinetics to feel his way forward, Harrius moved back through the pitch-dark stairwells and the smouldering remains of -5. Shortly, he arrived at the -6 corridor. 

A light was still on here, dim and yellow, casting long shadows. The corridor was very short, and ended in a large door, intricately carved with Mechanicus iconography and covered in purity seals. He didn’t need to read the plaque over the door, written in both Binary and High Gothic, to know that he’d made it to the Shrine of Flamel’s Pylon.

He paused outside the door, listening. It was silent, aside from the occasional electrical crackle.

Taking a breath, Harrius reached out and turned the handle. It was unlocked. The door swung silently inwards.

The Shrine of the Pylon was a massive, circular room, full of spiraling catwalks, banks of cogitators, coiling tubes, and squat machines. At its centre, festooned with sparking cables, inexorably drawing the eye, was the Pylon itself – a bizarre monolith, tapering and black, its surface carved with enigmatic, alien symbols. 

The symbols pulsed with warp-light, ever shifting in colour and feeling, sending powerful waves of nausea, joy, peace, or rage. Harrius was terrified and drawn in by the Pylon. He wanted nothing more than to run to it, or perhaps run as far away as possible.

Beneath reality, the warp was turbulent, thrashing and howling, fighting to escape its bounds. Harrius had never felt the layers so close, the barrier between them so fragile. With each pulse sent out by the Pylon, it twitched and rolled, brought to a frenzy. 

Dragging his eyes from the Pylon’s mesmerising pulsations, Harrius saw that there were people in the room – the entire Pyrae first-phase cohort. They were standing in a loose circle around the Pylon’s base, hands outstretched, swaying gently. Their faces were blank, eyes glassy and unseeing.

They were not awake, yet the warp was channelling through them. Harrius could sense the raw power, pouring into the Pylon, a Choir of twenty-six, and all of them acting as Draw. It was an astounding amount of energy. 

There was something missing though – or rather, someone. Harrius couldn’t see Shorter Snape anywhere. Turning, he stared into the wavering shadows, but no-one was there. The banks of cogitators were empty, and nothing stalked the catwalks which encircled the Pylon’s peak. 

Cautiously, Harrius stepped further into the room. Was Shorter Snape hiding behind the Pylon?

There was a quiet noise from behind him, like the sound of a book snapping shut.

Harrius spun around, and looked up. There was a catwalk directly above the door. Standing on it, leaning on the railing, was Shorter Snape.

He wore a grey cloak, his face concealed in the shadow of the hood. In his hands he held a book. With a jolt, Harrius recognised the Diary of Josie Leviticus. 

“Harrius,” he said calmly. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Harrius opened and shut his mouth. His heart was pounding in his chest. 

“Who,” he managed, “who are you?”

“Who am I?” Shorter Snape said, and he let out a chuckle. “Ahhh. An excellent question. One which I myself was not certain of, until recently.”

“W-what?” Harrius said.

“I have had many names in my time,” Shorter Snape said, straightening up from the railing. “And many faces. Even you have known me by several.”

He reached up and pushed back his hood, revealing pallid skin, a hooked nose and dark eyes. 

“Presently,” he said, “I am wearing the face of Professor Severus Snape. I am not the original – but you are not surprised to learn this.”

“The real Snape got taken away by the Inquisition,” Harrius said through gritted teeth.

“Ah, yes,” Shorter Snape said. “An unfortunate necessity.”

“Why?” Harrius said. “Why was it necessary? What are you doing with Pyrae? And who are you really?”

The man grimaced, and the warp thickened around him. As Harrius watched in shock, his face began to shift and melt. Bones cracked and reformed, the skin billowing and resettling. In moments, the man’s entire face had reformed. With a shudder, he let out a long sigh, and then looked at Harrius.

“Professor Quirrell?!” Harrius said.

“Yes,” Quirrell said with a smile. “That is another name by which you have known me. Another role which I have played, for many months now. Stuffy, stuttering, rambling Professor Quirinus Quirrell. His character is ideal for gathering information – unnoticed, ridiculed, paid no mind. No one would ever suspect him of harbouring any ulterior motive! Well, no one except Severus…” 

His expression shifted to a snarl – before abruptly shifting back to a smile.

“You know, I’ve become quite fond of little old Professor Quirrell,” he said, and chuckled again.

“You’re not the real one, are you?” Harrius said.

“I am the ‘real’ one,” the man said. “There is no other. Not anymore. I am the only Quirinus Quirrell, biomancer, Fortitude Professor at the Scholastica Psykana, Branch H, who exists.”

“You...you killed the real one!”

Quirrell waved a hand. “Another unfortunate necessity.”

“When? How long have you been pretending to be him?”

“You never met the ‘original’.”

“Who were you before that?”

“No-one who matters,” the man said, and then paused. “Oh…actually…you may find it amusing...”

He threw back his head. Bones cracked again, and he gasped in pain. 

In horror, Harrius watched another face appear. Another familiar face. 

“Riquel,” he said. “You’re…!”

“Yes,” the man said. “Riquel. An Inquisitorial agent, whose biopathic talents made him the perfect spy. That’s who I was when we first met, before even I knew I would come here. Humorous, is it not? Some may call it a coincidence – but I know better. There is no such thing as coincidences. Only fate.”

He turned and began to walk along the catwalk. Harrius watched him silently, mouth open. The gears were spinning in his mind. 

The Diary of Josie Leviticus – it WAS the same one from his homeworld! Riquel had found it on Halos, brought it with him, and used it to set up an entire year’s worth of conspiracy. But to what end? Harrius still wasn’t sure – but the more he thought about it, the more worried he became. 

As he stood there and stared, Riquel continued to monologue. 

“You know, I don’t even remember what my original name was,” he said. “Or my original face. I changed it so many times – played so many different roles. It used to bother me. I had no identity, other than the next one handed to me on a dataslate. Even my thoughts were not original, but echoes of those around me. I was no-one.

“But that was before I realised identity was not tied only to such things as appearance. I was still me, at my core. My soul was mine. Certainly, who I was had changed a thousand times – but the ability to change is a strength! To adapt to any circumstance, to slough off my old identity at a whim, and become the new without hesitation – this is powerful! Change is not necessarily a bad thing – and to those who can embrace it, it brings only opportunity! It is important to understand the- Harrius, what are you doing?”

Harrius, who had been reaching out to poke the nearest Pyrae student, froze.

“You must not touch anything,” Riquel said. “It is all where it should be.”

“What is?” Harrius said warily. “What are you planning?”

“That is not for you to know,” Riquel said, moving down the stairs to Harrius’ level. “All that you must know is that it is fated. Fate has brought me here, and you. You cannot escape or fight it. You can only adapt – change your own response from within. In that you shall find happiness and acceptance.”

Harrius backed away, around the Pylon, keeping it between himself and Riquel. He weaved between the eerily silent, swaying Pyrae students, avoiding the streams of warp energy arcing from their outstretched hands.

“That diary you’re holding is evil!” he called. “It turned Markus into a monster!”

“Many are quick to call that which they do not understand evil,” Riquel said, advancing. “You yourself have seen this, Harrius. Indeed, you have experienced it firsthand. Have there not been times when you have been treated like a criminal, just for the way you were born? Have you not been locked up, beaten, starved, and subjected to torture? You are not evil, Harrius – but there are those who would gladly treat you as such.”

“Well,” Harrius said hesitantly. “Yes, but that’s because the warp is dangerous! Psykers can hurt a lot of people, if they use it wrong! That’s just how it is!”

“No, Harrius,” Riquel said. “That may be how it is – but it doesn’t have to be! The Imperium does not value psykers enough. We are born with incredible talents that those without can only dream of! We should rightly be revered! But instead we are murdered in our millions, each and every day! Our gifts are exploited, and in return, we are treated like beasts! The Imperium could not function without us – yet still, they spit on us, brainwash us, trample us into the ground.

“But Harrius – the Imperium is not all there is! There are other ways of thinking – other places, where psykers like us are treated with the respect we deserve. I have seen cities of shining crystalline spires and vast, flawless pyramids, full of light and art and knowledge! This has been shown to me, and with time, effort and will, it is possible to achieve! The Imperium can change for the better!”

“Is that what the diary told you?” Harrius called out. “Because it’s making things up! There’s a daemon in there, and it’s a big stinky liar!”

“That is what the Imperium would have you think,” Riquel said. “You have been brainwashed, along with the others. Don’t worry – it took me months to understand and accept that myself.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s been brainwashed!” Harrius said.

Riquel chuckled. “Ah,” he smiled. “To be young, spirited, and certain! Well – you shall come to see the truth in time. But,” he stopped walking abruptly, “that is enough talk! You are here, and thus the final piece falls into place! The twenty seventh pyromancer, completing the holy triad of nines! Your power shall open the Gate!”

“Um, what?” Harrius said. “No thanks! I’d rather not do that!”

“Oh?” Riquel said. “Well, unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.”

He raised a hand to his temple and, before Harrius could register what was happening, he was lanced through the brain. 

Screaming, he doubled over, clutching his head, as the full psychic might of a trained telepath echoed inside his skull. Eyes jammed closed, he tried to fight against the crushing pressure of a thousand razor blades inside his head, jumbling for space. It felt like his brain was about to rupture.

A second later, the intense pain and pressure vanished. Harrius reeled, staggering backwards. His vision swam, and something warm dripped from his nose. Then Riquel attacked again.

The second attack was different. Rather than a blast of brute force, this time it felt like a dozen thin tendrils, crawling delicately through his mind, poking and prodding, stabbing and tweaking and manipulating. To his horror, Harrius felt his body respond, twitching, then moving on its own. His left leg jerked forwards, and then his right, like a puppet on strings. 

“Stop!” he gasped, fighting to resist. He concentrated his entire will on not moving another step forwards. For a second, it worked, but then Riquel snarled and doubled down. Harrius’ spine straightened, and his legs kicked out, moving him gracelessly but inexorably forwards.

It was now that Harrius noticed a gap in the circle of Pyrae students. It was a small gap, just large enough for one more student. Just large enough for him. He struggled against his own body as it walked him into position, and raised its arms. Next to him, Draco stood and swayed, his eyes vacant, the pulsing warp colours washing over his slack, peaceful face. 

“No..!” Harrius spat between his teeth. “I…won’t…!”

“You will,” Riquel said. “You are powerless to stop this. There are none who can halt the machinations of fate itself. This is your destiny.”

“No!” Harrius thrashed helplessly. Before him, far too close, the Pylon glowed and throbbed, alive with energy, drawing him in. Arcane electricity arced from the sleek black stone and catch his outstretched hands. He screamed as he felt it tug at his soul, pulling the warp open against his will. Gritting his teeth, he forced the warp to close again. 

“Let go, Harrius,” Riquel said, close to his ear. “Give in the Empyrean! Let it flow through you! Let its power infuse your soul!”

“N…no!”

“Again, I do admire your spirit, but those weren’t suggestions. They were instructions.”

In the corner of his eye, Harrius saw Riquel take out a large syringe and flick the end. Panic rose inside of him. The warp inside him almost spilled forth, but he just managed to stop it.

“Well,” Riquel said calmly, turning Harrus’ head to the side to expose his neck. “It’s been a pleasure, but we really must get started. And once this is over, I do hope there will be no hard feelings between us. You will come to see that this is for your own good, ultimately.”

He plunged the syringe into Harrius’ neck.

Harrius could do nothing as cool liquid flooded his veins. In a state of terror and dismay, he strained against his psychic bonds. In moments, the drug would turn him into a mindless sleepwalker, like the Pyrae students. Then the Pylon would suck power through him, fuelling whatever clandestine ritual Riquel had initiated. He was trapped, and he’d lost. He couldn’t stop Riquel’s plans, and worse, he had helped complete them. No one could save him, and he couldn’t save himself. When the drug hit, it was all over. 

When the drug hit…

It occurred to Harrius that the drug was taking a very long time to do anything. 

Riquel was a biopath – surely he would have made certain that the drug spread quickly throughout Harrius’ system. But for some reason, aside from a slight fuzziness, Harrius was still wide awake. 

A thought occurred to him, that Riquel, even with his face-changing abilities, couldn’t have gone very far to get sedative drugs. In fact, the most likely place he would have got them was the school hospital. And, as Harrius had found out previously, he was unusually resistant to the drugs they used there. 

It wasn’t much, but it was a tiny glimmer of hope. It meant that Harrius wasn’t finished. He could still fight.

If he concentrated, he could move his fingers.

Riquel was wrong. Riquel was wrong! Here was something, something entirely coincidental, which Riquel had not accounted for. The fact that it was coincidental made it all the more potent. Harrius still had choice after all. His fate was not entirely sealed. 

With this thought held strong in his mind, he focused his willpower. His right arm twitched, the fingers opening and closing. With a gasp, he yanked the arm away from the Pylon. His left arm followed suit. 

Gathering himself, Harrius concentrated on his legs and, with a yell, launched himself backwards. He crashed the ground, his body twitching, still out of control – but he’d accomplished his task. The Pylon was no longer dragging at his soul.

Unfortunately, his manoeuvre had not been particularly stealthy. Riquel, bent over a control panel, turned around to look. He looked astonished, before his face twisted in irritation. 

“How..?” he said. “What are you doing? You must remain in the circle of pyromancers!”

Gasping, Harrius dragged his reluctant body further from the Pylon. Then he looked up at Riquel and set his jaw. 

“I’m not a pyromancer,” he said. “I’m a telekine! I chose Raptora, remember?”

“You are a pyrokine,” Riquel snapped. “You are both, whether you like it or not. This is your role, chosen by fate-”

“No!” Harrius interrupted him. “No. I’m sick of people choosing my fate for me! I didn’t choose to be a psyker! I didn’t choose to be taken away from my homeworld either, or go to this school, but that’s fine, I’ve accepted it. But you know what? This time it seems that I do have a choice! Even if it’s not important, or even true, I don’t care! Its mine, my decision! So fuck your destiny. I’m not a pyromancer, not for you. I choose to be a telekine – and you can’t take that away from me!”

And then, while Riquel stood there, mouth slightly open, he telekinetically picked up a loose pipe from the bench, and clonked him over the head.


	31. The Game's Beginning

The pipe caused Riquel to stagger, but not to fall. More importantly though, it broke the psychic hold he had over Harrius. With his limbs back under his control, Harrius scrambled to his feet and ran out of sight behind the Pylon.

He had to stop the ritual – or at least mess with it as much as he could. He seized the shoulders of the nearest Pyrae student and shoved them away from the Pylon. The warp stream broke, and Harrius felt the Pylon’s rhythm falter.

“Stop that!” Riquel snapped. Rubbing his head, he stalked around the Pylon and dragged the glassy-eyed student off the floor, setting them upright.

Harrius tipped over another student, and then another. Then he pelted Riquel with a series of small, loose objects from around the room.

Riquel swore, and his hand move towards his temple – but this time, Harrius was expecting the brain lance. He reached for the warp, just as Riquel did, and pushed it away, denying what Riquel was trying to do. It worked, and the warp dissipated. Riquel swore again. 

“Harrius, you fool!” he snarled. “You don’t know what you’re doing! I am attempting to make a better life for all psykers on Terra! In destroying it, you are only hurting yourself!”

Harrius tipped over another student. By now, the Pylon’s pulses were becoming much less regular. Electricity crackled, cables sparking. The warp-light pulsed, violently, erratically. Riquel tried another time to stun Harrius, but his focus was clearly off, and Harrius easily fielded it.

As Harrius barrelled through several Pyrae students, knocking them to the floor, the Pylon let out a loud crackle, and a massive bolt of energy discharged. It struck a wall – and where it hit, reality bucked. Metal distorted, pipes and bolts rising to the surface, twisting in impossible shapes. Cyan-blue vines erupted outwards, growing rapidly through their life cycle. Purple flowers bloomed and wilted. Leaves curled in, withering, decaying into dripping black slime.

Riquel froze, watching this happen. Then he turned to stare at the Pylon. It crackled ominously. 

“Shit,” he said. 

As he turned and bolted towards the control panel, the Pylon arced again. This time, it struck one of the Pyrae students. She twitched, and her eyes shot open. She drew a breath to scream, but before she could make a sound, her body bulged unnaturally. Purple light shot out of her eyes and mouth. With a wet crunch, she exploded.

Harrius looked away, his stomach heaving. Behind him, Riquel was furiously muttering and mashing buttons. 

He paused for a second to glare at Harrius. “This is all your fault!” he yelled – then he screamed and ducked when another arc stuck the ceiling above his head. 

Ice crystals spread from the third arc-point. The ceiling creaked as it rapidly cooled and then heated again. Steam filled the air, coiling in complex geometric shapes. The blood from the exploded student had started spreading outwards. There was far more of it than should have been possible. It hit a wall and began crawling upwards. On the other side of the room, blue vines continued to grow and decay. With each new generation, they became more mutated, with bristling thorns, twisted, double-headed flowers, or fruits which pulsed like living organs.

Harrius backed away from the Pylon. What was happening? Another arc caused a nearby bank of cogitators to buckle, melting into each other like a piece of abstract art. The distorted screens lit up, flicking rapidly between scenes of violence, depravity, despair, or ecstatic joy. Technicolour images, encased in glass, dripped downwards and formed flickering tendrils which snaked outwards, sizzling as they hit the expanding blood or vines. 

One of the tendrils reached Riquel’s control panel, and it began to spark. “No, no, no!” Riquel yelled, hitting it repeatedly. A second later, a spike of glass shot through the top, narrowly missing his face. He gaped in shock as the buttons he’d been mashing began bobbing into the air like bubbles.

Pyrae students were being engulfed, left, right and centre, their bodies mutating, dissolving, helpless to save themselves. With each new death, the warp phenomena began to spread faster. Harrius began to yank students out of the way, dragging them into the furthest corners of the room. He couldn’t save them all – but maybe he could save some of them. The tried not to think about the others.

The Pylon had started to glow brightly, with long cracks of purple light running from the base to the top. The cracks were widening by the second. Cables sparked and fell away, and pipes overheated and burst. Below, the floor cracked, spider-web lines running outwards from the Pylon, the pieces tilting and grinding like tectonic plates. Chunks fell out of the ceiling and floated in the air, circling the Pylon alongside bubbles of blood and molten, flickering glass. The scent of iron and ozone filled the air. 

Harrius backed away as far as he could. There were no more Pyrae students he could rescue. He hit the back wall, and recoiled. The metal was writhing like it was full of crawling insects.

“No!” Riquel was yelling, as he stepped towards the Pylon. “No! NO! This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen!”

He was holding the diary of Josie Leviticus in his hand – and as he flailed his arm about in frustration, the Pylon arced directly towards him.

He flinched, raising his arm in a futile effort to stop the blast from turning him inside out. 

Instead, the arc caught directly on the diary.

It was absorbed – and the diary floated up into the air. 

Riquel watched it go, mouth slightly open. It floated towards the Pylon, and made contact spine first. The pages flew open to the centre.

“What-” Riquel said.

There was a pulse of pressure, and a wave of cold, then hot, and the Pylon shattered outwards. It fell away in glowing chunks. In its place was a hole in reality. 

A hand wrapped around the edge of the hole. It was huge, and tipped with vicious claws.

Riquel stared, mouth open. As he did so, another hand appeared, fingers splayed. Riquel rose into the air, his arms pinned back by an invisible force. 

“I,” he said. “I don’t understand. Is this…is this what was planned all along?”

Something stooped and poked its head through the hole. It was almost birdlike – its head was narrow and beaked – but its form changed with every passing second, billowing like cloud and shadow. Its long neck was fletched with feathers, scales, fingers, cloth, ancient bones, the pages of arcane tomes, moving like grass in the wind, the colour shifting like a fever dream. Eyes, small and large, grew all over in sickening recursive patterns, pulsing outwards or sucking inwards, taking sanity with them. 

Harrius saw the thing open its beak-like mouth, full of infinite rows of pointed teeth. A long tongue flickered outwards, as if tasting the air, savouring it. 

He could not look away. He desperately wanted to, but he couldn’t. He was stricken with terror and awe, frozen in place, his thoughts a whirling mess. He wanted to run and never look back. He wanted to submit to this creature, and its aura of pure, unfiltered physic power. He wanted to throw up, and attack this vile beast, and declare his undying adoration, and to rip out his own throat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He could not scream. He could not look away. He could not stand it- 

A hand grabbed his ankle. 

Harrius jolted, and looked down. One of the Pyrae students was awake and tugging at his trouser leg. 

It was Draco. He looked dazed, and blood was leaking slowly from his nostrils and ears – but he was alive, and conscious. 

“Dirt boy,” he hissed. “What the FUCK is happening?? I demand you explain to me!”

Harrius stared at him.

“Don’t just fucking stare at me like a fucking stunned eel!” Draco spat.

Harrius swallowed. “Um,” he croaked. “D-don’t look now but…there’s a MASSIVE daemon behind you.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “What?” What the fuck are you talking about? Where are we??”

He glanced sideways, and saw the limp bodies of his peers. He looked further and saw the blood, dripping upwards, and the vines and the glass, and the gateway to the warp. 

He quickly looked back again. 

“What the FUCK is that?!”

“I told you, it’s a daemon. Don’t look at it directly.”

“Well, can we fucking set it on fire or something?” Draco said.

“Um,” Harrius said.

He took a breath, removed his glasses, and forced himself to glance at the daemon again, just long enough to see what it was doing. It was currently reaching out for Riquel. He could see the whole daemon now, a birdlike monster with vast feathered wings, although the bulk of its form was vague, flickering and shifting in and out of perception.

Its taloned hand close around Riquel, and he shuddered violently, before becoming rigid. His body began to shift and bubble. Eyeballs opened up across his skin like blooming flowers.

Harrius gulped. “Emperor protect us,” he muttered. 

“Well, don’t just stand there, do something, you pathetic piece of rotten fish!” Draco yelled. He staggered upright. “Where are your bullshit overpowered pyrokine powers now, huh?”

“I,” Harrius said weakly. “I don’t think my powers can do anything against…against THAT…”

“So you’re giving up, then?” Draco spat. “Fucking classic. In that case, I’d better do everything myself, like usual.”

He straightened, feet planted firmly, and Harrius felt him reach for the warp. 

“Wait!” Harrius said, as he felt Draco gathering power. “What are you doing!? You’ll draw its attention!”

“I’m setting this shit on fire, aren’t I,” Draco said. “Looks, it’s all I’m good at. Not all of us are some sort of fucking prodigy, alright.”

“OK, but I don’t think that’s going to help at all,” Harrius said. “You’re just going to piss it off!”

“Harrius, shut the FUCK up and leave me alone.”

“No,” Harrius said. 

“What?”

“I said, no. I’m not leaving you alone. You’ll just die. If…if we work together, then we have a better chance.”

“Tch,” Draco said, glaring at Harrius.

“OK, only slightly better,” Harrius admitted. “I still don’t think we can make a dent on that thing…”

“But,” he said, as Draco opened his mouth, “we should still try! C’mon – Choir. I’ll be Draw. You be Wield.” 

Draco sneered at him. “There’s no Anchor, idiot.”

“Draco, our chances of getting out alive are already next to zero. We’re going to have to do without an Anchor.”

“Fine,” Draco said.

He reluctantly took Harrius’ hand – and Harrius opened himself to the warp. It wasn’t hard – the warp was practically gushing into reality all around him. 

“Alright,” he said, as he began channelling energy towards Draco. “What are we setting on fire?”

“You tell me,” Draco said. “You’re the one who apparently knows everything.”

Harrius took another quick look at the centre of the room. Riquel was no longer recognisable as human, his body viciously mutated like Markus’ had been. The gigantic daemon had set him down on the floor, where he sat and drooled from an enormous lengthways mouth in his torso. 

The gigantic daemon meanwhile had materialised a staff, and was using it to slowly burn arcane runes into the air. The runes flickered with poisonous, scintillating light, and Harrius didn’t dare look at them directly. With each new rune, the daemon became more corporeal.

“OK,” he breathed to Draco. “We don’t have long. The daemon’s getting stronger by the second. We need to stop that ritual!”

“Yeah, OK, genius, how??”

Harrius looked wildly around at the circulating objects, the shattered floor and crumbling ceiling. Then his eyes fixed on a certain object, floating at the peak of the flicking warp gate, rotating slowly. 

“The diary!” he said.

“What?” Draco snapped. 

“That book,” Harrius pointed to the centre of the maelstrom. “We need to destroy it!”

“Why?”

“It’s the key to this whole thing! You just to trust me!”

“Fine,” Draco said – and he seized the power that Harrius was sending him.

He focused, but the book did not catch on fire. The massive daemon jerked its head and turned to look in their direction. 

“Emperor, now it knows we’re here,” Harrius hissed.

“What the fuck is this book made out of?” Draco muttered, concentrating. “I can’t…give me more power!”

Harrius sent more his way, watching the daemon in the corner of his eye. He was pretty sure it was looking at him, with at least some of its eyes. As he watched, it opened its beak-like mouth. The mouth split vertically down the centre, becoming two. The split continued further, back through the head, and down the neck. Gore and warp-stuff dripped out, and reformed into the daemon, arching like solar flares. Soon, the daemon had two half-heads on half a neck each, moving independently. 

“Draco,” Harrius said through his teeth. “Is the book on fire yet?”

“More power,” Draco muttered again. He was sweating, and blood was dripping freely from his nose.

Harrius took a breath, and dug deeper, pulling as much power as he dared. He could feel Draco sending the entirely of it into one spot, a point in space that was by now a ridiculously high temperature. The very air had started to glow, the scent of ozone intensifying. Yet still, the diary refused to burn.

The daemon’s left face turned towards Harrius and Draco, and it slowly lifted one of its taloned hands. Harrius flinched, bracing for a devastating psychic attack.

Instead, the daemon folded its fingers, and pointed. On the floor, the creature that had been Riquel jerked upright.

“Oh, Emperor,” Harrius said. “Draco, hurry up!”

“I’m fucking trying!”

Eyeball Riquel stalked forwards, gibbering gleefully. It paused, and the flesh on its back swelled and quivered. A pair of oblong lumps formed, rising up and fanning outwards, feathers rapidly sprouting. The creature experimentally flexed its new wings – and then launched itself into the air. 

Harrius had mere seconds to act. The monster was bearing down on him. One strike of its claws, and it would all be over. Unlike the massive daemon, this creature was perfectly corporeal. 

Its face was a kaleidoscope of eyes, and there were more eyes along its limbs, and nestled between the feathers of its wings. So many eyes…

Harrius thrust his hands into his pockets. Most of them were empty – but one was still full.

Every game has an end. And a beginning.

The monster came down before him, its landing ungainly, foul wings flared wide.

The game…the game was the daemon’s plan. A plan of impossible, intricate, far-reaching detail, which began the day Riquel first picked up the diary.

Grinning all over, the monster stepped forwards. A spiky tongue lolled from its largest mouth.

Anything since that day was part of the plan. Part of the game. 

The monster loomed over Harrius, and raised an arm. Talons glinted in the warp-light.

But anything before the game’s beginning…

Harrius had seen the effect of alkaline soap in the eyes before. The proof was standing right next to him.

This daemon had far, far more eyes than Draco.

Harrius ripped open the box and tossed the contents directly into the monster’s face.

For a second, nothing happened – and then the monster reeled backwards. It let out a howl, clawing at itself. Soap fizzled, dripping down between the talons, tinged with red.

Behind it, the massive daemon paused, half-way through a rune. For the briefest moment, its right face turned away from the task.

A moment was all that was needed. The diary burst into flame.

The massive daemon splayed a hand, and the temperature plummeted – but too late. Beneath its paranatural protection, the diary was nothing more than a thing of paper of leather scraps. Draco had created a small sun around it. It had burned away in an instant. 

The runes began to flicker, and one by one, they went out. The warp gate shivered, wavering like a poor pict transmission, before blinking into nothing. The massive daemon remained for a second longer, a vile, thrashing afterimage, before it too vanished. 

There was a moment of deafening silence, and then reality rushed back in to fill the void. There was a clap like thunder, and everything which had been floating in the air crashed back to the ground. Distant sirens became audible. 

Harrius let out a gasp, his ears popping. Around him, the ceiling was collapsing in – but they’d done it! The diary was destroyed – and with it gone, the ritual was ruined! The massive daemon had been forced to retreat!

He turned to grin at Draco – and was reminded of one last little problem.

Eyeball Riquel was still there.

Its face was still foaming, eye-juice running down its front. It could still see, though, with its dozen other eyes. Most of them were currently fixed on Harrius. For something with no recognisable facial structures, it still managed to look extremely pissed off.

It launched itself at him. Howling, it seized him with one of its talons, and hurled him into a wall.

The breath was punched out of Harrius’ body, and he heard something snap. Agony spiked through his chest. 

As he hit the floor, he tried to gasp, but his chest refused to move. His head swam, spots dancing in his vision. He felt cold, and then hot. 

The monster was coming back. He saw it charge in, claws outstretched, ready to disembowel-

There was a loud, metallic clatter. The Riquel monster’s head ruptured in gore.

A hail of bolter rounds punched through its torso, shattering what bones remained, turning its flesh to pulp. 

In numb shock, Harrius watched its form collapse in on itself, toppling, headless, to the floor. Blood mist drifted down over him.

Wheezing, he tried to focus on the figure who stood behind the slain monster. They lowered their bolter and stepped forwards, over the pile of viscera.

They crouched down over Harrrius, and a face swam into view. It was a woman who Harrius didn’t recognise.

Harrius tried to speak, but only blood bubbled over his lips. 

“Shhh,” the woman said. “Quiet now. The fight is over. You can rest.” 

But who are you, Harrius wanted to ask. The woman reached out and placed a cool hand on his forehead. Her arm was spangled with gold electoos, glowing faintly just beneath the skin.

“Rest now,” she said again. 

A wave of soothing cool rolled out from beneath her fingers. The pain faded. Harrius sighed, and closed his eyes. He really was tired, 

so very

tired…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would win?
> 
> One (1) Lord of Change, Supreme Daemon of the Chaos God Tzeentch  
> or   
> One (1) small wizard boi with prophecy drain cleaner


	32. Interrogation

≡][≡

BEGIN MESSAGE.

THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN REDACTED ON AUTHORITY OF THE ORDO MALLEUS, FIRST GUARDIAN OF THE IMPERIUM, FOREMOST OF THE HOLY INQUISITION.

THE READER IS ADVISED TO NOT IMAGINE THE CONTENTS OF THIS CHAPTER.

THOSE FOUND IN DISSENT SHALL BE SUMMARILY EXECUTED.

END MESSAGE.

≡][≡


	33. Hospitalised 2: Electric boogaloo

White light. Curtains. Pain, dull but persistent. 

Harrius came to slowly, hazily – but he already knew where he was. He’d been here before. It was the same bed and everything. 

His chest ached, and his head was full of fog – but it wasn’t so bad. It had been worse the last time. There was no synth skin on his arms or legs, not even a single bandage. The tubes in his wrists were minimal. It was almost a miracle how OK he felt, especially considering-

Considering what had-

Considering how-

Harrius frowned to himself. 

They’d escaped from their dorm and down into the basement – Ron, Hermione, Neville and himself. That had definitely happened. The security had been a pain to get past. Ron had been hurt.

(Was Ron alright? Had they gotten him to the hospital in time?)

After splitting from the others, Harrius had found the Pylon. Shorter Snape had been there – no, Quirrell! It had been Quirrell all along! 

(No, not Quirrell – it had been-)

Quirrell had the diary. It had put strange, destructive ideas in his head. He’d set up a ritual, with the Pyrae students as unwilling helpers. The ritual had-

(What was it? What did the ritual do? There was… It was… Dammit! It was really important-)

The ritual had gone wrong. The Pylon exploded! Many Pyrae students had been caught in the blast. 

(No, no, that’s not-!) 

Quirrell had flown into a rage and tried to kill Harrius. He’d blamed him for his own failures. But fortunately, the Inquisition had arrived, just in time to save the day…

Yes…

That’s what had happened.

Harrius lay still and stared up at the ceiling. It…it was over. It was really over. The Inquisition had destroyed the diary and taken Quirrell away for questioning. Harrius didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

As he lay there and thought, the curtain shifted and a nurse appeared.

Harrius turned his head to squint at her. 

“Hi Roslyn,” he croaked.

“Hello Harrius,” Roslyn smiled. “I’m glad to see that you’re awake. And right on schedule too!”

Harrius blinked. “Schedule?” he asked. “How…how long..?”

“You’ve been asleep for three weeks,” Roslyn said.

Harrius tried to sit up. “Three weeks!?” 

“Shh,” Roslyn gently pushed him back down. “It’s OK – I’ve saved all your homework. See, there it is, on your bedside table. You haven’t missed anything.”

“Oh,” Harrius eyed the giant stack of papers. “Great.”

He went back to staring at the ceiling. 

“Is…is Ron alright?”

“He’s recovering well,” Roslyn said.

“That’s good,” Harrius mumbled.

He was silent as Roslyn checked the machine readouts beside his bed, and the tubes in his wrist. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, shining a light into his eyes.

“Alright,” Harrius said. “Chest hurts a bit.”

“Four broken ribs,” Roslyn told him. “They’re on the mend, but you must take it easy for another three weeks at least. Keep physical activity to a minimum. No running around and playing chase, or lifting heavy objects!”

“OK,” Harrius muttered. 

“How does your head feel?”

“Um. Fuzzy. A little bit sore. Also…”

“Also what?”

“You know that feeling when you’ve forgotten something?”

“You…received a nasty concussion,” Roslyn said. “Confusion is a common symptom following such an injury. But don’t worry – it’ll clear up.”

She finished the check-up and stood back. 

“If you’re feeling up to it,” she said, “we can take you over to the rehabilitation room this afternoon. Your little friends are there.”

“Ron?” Harrius brightened.

“Yes, he’ll be there. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please,” Harrius said.

***

He sat and fidgeted for several hours, waiting for the afternoon to arrive. Eventually, Roslyn returned, with fresh pyjamas. She went away while Harrius changed, returning with a wheelchair.

“Sit,” she gestured to the chair.

Harrius opened his mouth to tell her that he was perfectly capable of walking – but Roslyn was having none of it. Harrius gave up and let her wheel him out into the hall.

Shortly, they arrived at a large, circular room, with wide windows overlooking a tiny garden. There was fitness equipment on one side, and comfortable chairs on the other, around a large wooden table. The table was covered in puzzles, activity books, and baskets of colourful pencils.

Roslyn wheeled Harrius towards the table, stopping him right in front of it. The table was tall, and the wheelchair low-set, and Harrius’ face was just above the table’s surface. 

“Here we are,” Roslyn said, patting him on the shoulder. “Ronaldius will be coming shortly! Have fun – but remember, no strenuous activity!”

“Oh,” Harrius said. “Um..!”

Roslyn had already walked away.

Reluctantly, Harrius turned to look across the table. The chair directly opposite was occupied, by a certain boy with white-blonde hair. 

“What are you looking at?” Draco said.

Harrius let out a small sigh. 

“WHY are you here?” 

Draco put down his pencil and glared at Harrius, from his much taller chair. “Why are YOU here? I was here first.”

“I’m here to see Ron, not you,” Harrius scowled.

“Oh, your ginger buddy?” Draco said, and he grinned. “Ha! Here to lend him a hand, are you?”

“What?”

“You’ll see. Look – here he comes now!”

Harrius turned around, and watched as Ron was wheeled into the room. The nurse brought him over, parking the chair next to Harrius’.

Ron looked pale and gaunt, and parts of his skin were patched with fresh synth – but he grinned broadly the moment he saw Harrius. 

“Mate,” he said, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d be in a coma forever!”

Harrius grinned back – but as he did so, he glanced down. Ron was resting his arms in his lap – but the right arm looked strange. The sleeve was oddly flat. 

Harrius’ grin faltered.

“Ah,” Ron said. “Yeah. They, uh…they couldn’t fix it. Amputated just below the elbow. It’s, uh, what I get from running directly into obvious danger. Never again, mind you. I’ve had enough heroics for a lifetime, thanks.”

He waved what was left of the arm, causing the empty sleeve to flop to and fro.

“Ron,” Harrius said quietly.

“It’s fine,” Ron said. “I’ve still got one. And anyway, the nurse said I can get a cool cybernetic, if I make it to fifth phase.”

“Fifth phase?” Harrius said. “But that’s not for ages! Aren’t you right-handed?”

“Not anymore,” Ron said grimly.

Harrius just looked at him. “Ron…I’m s-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Ron interrupted. “It’s not your fault. I could have backed out at any time. I knew what we were doing was really stupid and dangerous, but I went along with it regardless. And look – the school didn’t blow up, so my noble sacrifice wasn’t in vain!”

“I suppose,” Harrius said.

Ron leaned closer. “So, what really happened anyway? I’ve heard a lot of rumours – but you were actually there! Spill the beans! What went down in the Shrine of the Pylon?”

“Um,” Harrius said.

He shook his head to clear it, and then slowly began to recount what had happened. His memories of the exact events were still weirdly hazy, and he had to backtrack a few times to get the story straight. But the more he spoke, the more solid his memories became. By the time he reached the end of the tale, he felt a lot more confident.

“So the diary’s gone, then?” Ron said. “Thank the Emperor!”

“Gone!” Harrius nodded. “Burnt to a crisp!”

He frowned slightly. (A small sun. Draco, channelling all that he had-)

He dismissed the image. His dreams had been strange of late…

“Have you seen Hermione?” he asked. “And Neville?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “They’ve visited a bunch of times. They’re fine. A bit worried that you’re secretly dead – but hey, you’re not!”

“A shame,” Draco said from across the table.

“We weren’t talking to you,” Harrius said loudly.

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Out of all of first-phase Pyrae, why did HE survive?”

“Wait, they told everyone about that?” Harrius said.

“Sort of. Two thirds of the cohort disappeared, so they had to give some sort of explanation. Mind you, Hermione said they didn’t give any details. Told everyone it was a ‘psychic accident’, apparently.”

“Well,” Harrius said. “I guess they’re not really that far off.”

***

He chatted with Ron for an hour or so, just catching up, before Roslyn and the other nurse reappeared. Harrius, who had gotten out of his wheelchair, hurriedly got back into it.

Roslyn gave him a disapproving look, but she didn’t say anything.

“Do we have to go back to our rooms already?” Harrius asked her sheepishly. 

“No,” Roslyn said. “Actually, we’re going somewhere else. There is someone who wants to talk to you. Both of you.”

She turned Harrius’ chair around and wheeled him out of the room. The other nurse followed with Ron.

“Who is it?” Ron asked, as they trundled down the corridor. “It’s not Perseus again, is it? Please, anything but that. I’d honestly rather die than listen to him tell me about his one-armed uncle again.”

“It’s not Perseus,” Roslyn said, sounding amused. 

She pushed open the door to a private waiting room. Inside, Hermione and Neville stood up, their faces brightening. 

“Harrius!” Hermione grinned. “You’re awake!”

“Oh, and nice to see you again too, Ron,” she added.

Ron pouted. “Wow. It’s like you don’t even care!”

“I do care,” Hermione snapped, “I’m just glad Harrius is alive! I already knew you were!”

“I’m glad to see you’re alive too,” Harrius said.

Hermione beamed at him. 

They all excitedly talked over each other for a few minutes, before footsteps rang outside the door. Everyone turned to look, as Professor McGonagall appeared. Behind her was Professor-Primus Dumbledore. 

The room fell dead silent as the head of the school came in and smiled around at everyone. “How are we all?” he asked cheerfully.

There was a long pause. 

“Good, sir,” Harrius said.

“I’m glad to hear it!” Dumbledore beamed. “I am thoroughly impressed at how well you are all recovering. The resilience of youth is truly wonderous to behold! Your strength is admirable, uhh,”

He glanced at McGonagall.

“That’s Harrius,” McGonagall said out of the side of her mouth.

“Harrius!” Dumbledore said. “Yes – I’ve heard much about you of late! A resourceful and talented young man, so I’ve heard. One of our best and brightest!”

“Um, thank you, sir,” Harrius mumbled. His ears were slowly turning red.

“And you must be Ronaldius!” Dumbledore turned to beam at Ron. “A braver soul I have never met! It takes true strength to fall, and bounce right back, with attitude undamaged.”

“Thanks, Professor-Primus,” Ron said. “I AM pretty brave.”

Dumbledore ruffled Ron’s hair, and then turned to the other two. He paused again. 

“Hermione and Neville,” McGonagall said.

“Ah,” Dumbledore leaned towards her. “Which is-”

“That’s Hermione, and that’s Neville.”

“Hermione, and Neville!” Dumbledore stuck out both his hands at once to shake. “Hermione, I’ve been told you are an academic prodigy! Top of your year level! A brilliant mind. A beacon of logic!”

Hermione looked thrilled. “T-thank you, Professor-Primus!” 

“Neville,” Dumbledore continued, pumping Neville’s hand. “Diligent, practical, loyal! Where would we be without you? The galaxy needs fine men like you. A true Imperial citizen.”

Neville blinked at him in bemusement.

“A fine contingent of pupils indeed,” Dumbledore grinned, stepped back. “Minerva has told me all about your triumphs in Practical class. But – that isn’t why we’re here.”

His face became more serious. “I’m here to personally congratulate you,” he said, “for going above and beyond your duties. You were observant, and brave, and you acted when no one else did. You put your lives in danger, even when it wasn’t asked of you. You fought against a very real, very considerable threat, not for your own glory, but because you knew it was the right thing to do. For this, on behalf of all of Branch H, I thank you.”

He bowed his head.

“Now, unfortunately,” he went on, “I can only thank you informally. Although you unquestionably deserve recognition, we cannot officially acknowledge it. What you did was impressive, and saved countless souls – but your method was…unconventional. You acted without orders, flouted school rules, and, as I hear it, caused significant damage to Mechanicus property.”

He smiled wryly. “It would be unwise on my part to encourage such behaviour,” he said. “But, even so…!” 

He reached into his pocket – then frowned, patting around his waist.

“Minerva, do you have the..?”

“Yes, sir, you gave it to me.”

“Ah. Could you please..?”

“Here it is.”

McGonagall handed Dumbledore a small black drawstring bag. He opened it and tipped a set of tiny gold pins onto the palm of his hand. They were finely crafted, cut in the shape of the Imperial Aquilla.

“Here,” he said, showing them to everyone. “Take one each. It may be small, but it represents our thanks! You may wear it with pride. All that see it shall know you a loyal citizen of the Imperium!”

“Not too much pride though, please,” McGonagall added brusquely. “You mustn’t go bragging about it to the other students. A victory though it may be, it is a victory you must keep to yourself. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused. 

Dumbledore beamed in delight. “Such good students,” he said, wiping a single tear from his eye.

“Indeed,” McGonagall said. “But…perhaps we should leave them be now?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Until next time! I look forward immensely to watching you grow. You will do great things, I am certain of it!”

He went around and shook everyone’s hand once more. Then, smiling, he disappeared through the door. McGonagall sent everyone a nod, and followed after him.

“Well,” Ron said into the silence. “That was something.”

“Cool pin,” Harrius said, turning his around so it shone in the light.

“Yeah, but maybe not as cool as the Professor-Primus made out,” Ron said drily. “Draco has one of these as well, you know. I saw it earlier.”

“What?” Harrius said. “Why does he have one?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Ron said, “ that the Primus just hands these out whenever he has an opportunity.”

“Maybe Draco heroically helped the other Pyrae students, when the accident happened?” Neville said.

“But there wasn’t even really an accident!” Harrius said. “That was all made up! Quirrell killed the Pyrae students, when he caused the Pylon to explode. Draco wasn’t…Draco didn’t…”

He frowned.

“Well, there you go,” Ron said. “The pin isn’t that special.”

“I disagree,” Hermione said. “It is special. It represents what we did.”

“So, a whole lot of property damage?” 

“No. Well, OK, yes – but we did it for a reason!” Hermione said. “Professor Quirrell and the Eyeball diary would have gotten away with it, if we hadn’t intervened! You heard what Professor-Primus Dumbledore said – it was a real, considerable threat! Our actions made a difference. The head of the school came to thank us personally! That’s not nothing.”

“Fine,” Ron said. “I’ll take it.”

He fiddled with the pin in his left hand, struggling to open it.

“Do…do you need help with that?” Hermione said.

“No, I’ve got it,” Ron frowned. The pin clicked open, and he fastened it to his shirt. “There!” he said. “Heroic as shit.”

Harrius put his own pin on slowly. 

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “since we’re all supposed to forget any of this happened – they could have at least given us some House Points as well. It's almost the end of the phase, and Raptora isn’t exactly doing great…”

“Yeah, or they could have given us a week off homework,” Ron said.

“Or a little bit of extra time to complete it,” Neville said.

“Oh, come on, everyone,” Hermione said. “Let’s focus on the positive! We’re all alive, and the diary is gone! We should celebrate!”

“OK,” Harrius said. “But there’s still a giant pile of homework next to my bed.”

“You think yours is bad?” Ron said, “I have to entirely relearn writing with my left hand!”

“You’d better get started soon,” Neville told him. “The end-of-phase exams are coming up! Professor Snape was already talking about it yesterday.”

“Wait, Snape is back?” Harrius said. “The real one?”

“Yep! Back, and grumpy as ever.”

“Emperor,” Harrius said. “I dread what he’d going to be like, now that he has an actual reason to hate me.”

“Mate, I’m pretty sure it’s the same reason,” Ron said. “He was hating you in advance. Maybe he’ll actually be nicer now?”

“Doubt it,” Harrius said.

“Holy Terra,” Hermione threw up her hands. “Can we PLEASE just enjoy and acknowledge this moment? We won! The diary is gone!”

“Fine,” Ron said. “If you insist.”

“I’m enjoying it already,” Harrius said.

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione smacked him on the arm.

“Ow! Stop! You’re ruining it! Help me, Ron!”

They all laughed as Harrius wheeled himself around the room, Hermione chasing after him in mock fury. The moment remained largely unacknowledged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S OVER...IT'S DONE..!
> 
> Thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to absorb this high-effort shitpost through your own two eyeballs! I had a ton of fun creating it, so hopefully you had as much fun reading it.
> 
> BIG THANK to SpaceAce, who beta read my chapters every week and told me to just totally exterminatus the word ‘suddenly’. 
> 
> If you liked this fic, please do leave a comment and/or a kudo! <3 <3 <3 <3 One like = one serotonin
> 
> Down with the Corpse Emperor um uhhh PRAISE THE EMPEROR I mean aHAHAha


	34. The Post Credits Scene

Professor-Primus Dumbledore arrived at his office to find it occupied. 

“Ah, Nymphadora,” he said, closing the door behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Albus,” the woman said.

She wore a dark cloak, the hood thrown back to reveal dyed-white hair, a symbol of status and purity. The visible skin of her neck and forearms displayed intricate patterns, subcutaneous circuits. glowing electric gold. Although slight in build, she exuded an aura of power and mystique. 

“Would you fancy a cup of recaf?” Dumbledore asked. 

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I have recently acquired a truly delectable sample. First class.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, your loss,” Dumbledore said, moving to make himself a cup. 

“Albus,” Nymphadora said, watching him. “As you are no doubt already aware, our investigation has come to a close.”

“Ah, yes. I trust it went well?”

“Yes. We have deemed the source of corruption dealt with. It does not appear to have spread further at this time. Branch H shall be allowed to continue operations as normal.”

“Excellent news!” Dumbledore beamed.

“Yes. However, I remind you that it is the responsibility of the staff to remain vigilant. Albus, you are a good man. Your years of loyal service have not gone unnoticed. Thus, it would be a shame if an incident such as this were to occur a second time.”

“It will not happen a second time,” Dumbledore said. His smile was gone.

“Good,” Nymphadora said. “Now, a related matter – you have been to see the children, have you not? The children involved in this case?”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said. “I saw most of them just today!”

“And what is your assessment?”

“They are bright, happy, normal students. Full of life and hope!”

“Good.”

“Why do you ask? If you’re worried they’ll remember-”

“No,” Nymphadora said. “I am not worried about that.”

“Then what?”

“Let’s just say that the Malleus always has an eye open for talent.”

“You’re going to recruit them?”

“Perhaps, once they have completed their training. After all, it isn’t just any eleven-year-old who can take on a greater daemon, and emerge not only alive, but victorious.”

“So, it’s true, then? They defeated it?”

“So it seems. Not alone, but their role was key . Of course, without the guidance of your pyroneer, things may not have turned out quite so rosy...”

“Severus is a brilliant man.”

“He is a competent divineer. Which is in itself a rare thing. You are fortunate to have him.”

“I am aware.”

There was a long pause. Dumbledore took a long sip at his recaf. 

“Of course,” Nymphadora said, “with this type of daemon, it is difficult to tell what was intentional. It is possible that in even in its defeat, the seeds of its return are already sewn. For this reason, you must remain especially vigilant.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said.

“But Albus,” Nymphadora said, “do not dwell long on such matters. In that way of thinking lies madness.”

“Astute advice.”

Dumbledore finished his recaf and sighed in satisfaction. “An excellent brew. Are you quite sure you don’t want any?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“My husband found it, actually. It’s quite a story. You see, I mentioned to him last week that the recaf in my office was somewhat sub-par, and-”

“Albus,” Nymphadora interrupted him. “In the kindest way possible – I do not give a shit about your private life - OR your recaf.”


End file.
